Sometimes the Best Thing to Do Is Nothing

Tuesday was a rough day. It was the third day Camila woke up on the left side of the bed, with the wrong foot, upside down and backwards. Everything was wrong; she didn't want daddy to dress her but me. She cried when I put on her t-shirt "I don't want short sleeves, I want a long sleeves!" She cried some more when I told her she could change. She put on a long-sleeved shirt and pushed the sleeves all the way up to her biceps. The fork was the wrong color. The plate was the wrong material, her seat belt didn't feel right... 


I took her and her brother to a local theme park for a change of scenery and some fun... I thought. But Camila was still in a bad mood. She didn't want to get on the rides, pet the animals, wait in line, or let anyone else have fun. I kept my cool for about three hours. Then... it's so hard to stay calm and not lose my patience when I have four consecutive days like this! 


But the other day I read this quote by Tony Humphries; "They're not trying to make life difficult for you, they are only trying to show you how difficult it is for them." ‎I kept reminding myself of this all day. It's not about me, it's about them. 




But... "something must be wrong", I think to myself. I have to do something. I give extra hugs, extra attention, gently ask "what's wrong?" The crying, whining and annoyance doesn't subside. So I do the opposite -- give her space, walk away, tell her it's okay to cry in her bedroom. Nothing. Actually, more tears and screaming. 


I went to bed feeling bad that night. For hours I rattled my brain wondering what I did wrong, how I could do better... Then, yesterday, I tried something new; Camila started to have a fit because I brushed her hair in the bathroom instead of in the living room (a preference she apparently developed this morning), and I felt my shoulders climbing up my neck and my breathing getting shallow. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and knelt next to my daughter. I was going to say something but instead I just looked at her and put my hand on her leg. She stopped (fake) crying for a second and then resumed. I kept my hand on her leg and said nothing. A minute passed and she turned to look at me, stared and grunted. I said nothing but tried my hardest to project nothing but love. "Mommy?" She sat up and stared at me with big round eyes. I said, "I love you." She looked down, stood up and waited. "I love you," I repeated. "Do you want a hug?" She nodded yes and hugged me. I allowed her to control the length and strength of our embrace. She pulled back and said the most surprising thing, "I love you mommy. I'm not going to fight with you anymore." 

Today she said "Mommy, I know how much you love me." I asked, "You do? How do you know?" And in her usual brilliance and amazing understanding of herself and life, she responded, "I know with all of my voice!" And it turns out that sometimes there is nothing for me to do but stop, sit in silence and wait. And in that silence she feels heard and feels all of my love.