Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acceptance. Show all posts

Monday, March 16, 2015

On Friendship

Many questions that we were asked early on in our unschooling journey have now either stopped surfacing so much or have taken on a different form. But there is one which seems to fall into the permanent category, because it never seems to go away nor want to take another form :)

Yes, it is the question about social skills and friendship. One that I am kind of tired of answering, but still want to, because it has been one of the areas (the other one being food) that has completely changed my thinking and where my learning curve has been the steepest. And as is the case with everything else, my dear son has been my Guru. And I see this question as an opportunity for me to share what I have learned from him with others.

So here are some of the questions I have been asked countless times! -

Does he have friends?
Does he like to play with other children?
Does he miss being around other children? 
Do you have a community or a group that meets often?
You must be creating opportunities for him to meet other people and other children that would stimulate him...
and so many more that seem to have the same shade as these questions!

In the beginning, I did struggle with these questions, because I did not know what I was doing myself. But over the years, and with frequent, deep conversations with my son, where I simply shared all my fears and doubts without any holding back, my understanding and way of seeing this whole aspect of life has transformed. 

In some ways i think unschooling has worked for us beautifully because of the way the three of us are as people. My husband, my son and myself - all like our own company. Not that we don't like being with people. My husband loves meeting new people, while my son and me would much rather be home and invest our time and energy into nurturing few but deep friendships. But we have just stopped going out of our way to seek company.....simply because we love being by ourselves, with ourselves and we have come to trust Life to give us what we need at any given point in time.

So the need for being with other children was hardly ever there for my son, and when it came up, it was not a need that he wanted desperately to be fulfilled. The early years of our journey was all about 'nesting' - it was a time to de-stress ourselves from all the stress of having to conform to systems that we just could not be a part of; it was a time to simply be home and learn more about ourselves and each other without any other distractions; it was a time when we learned how beautiful and empowering it was to truly be alone with ourselves.

Of course, the fear of not having children to play with everyday or even once in a while was there, and it still keeps coming up, especially when I think of our age and what would happen when we are not around. But it doesn't worry me so much anymore. There is this deep trust that the Universe will take care somehow and that he will get what he needs. This is not a helpless resignation of sorts to destiny or a giving up of one's power to create. It is rather about owning our power by believing in what we are doing and the path we have chosen to take.

So whenever this fear came up, and even now, if it comes up, I just tell my son that I need to talk to him and share whatever I am going through in a way that I think he will understand. 'When in doubt, simply ask' - has been my motto of sorts. And it has helped immensely. A week ago, this fear came up again and I asked him how he was feeling about not being able to meet his old friends, about not having any friends and kids to play with where we stay now, whether he missed his friends or children, and what he would like me to do about it, or what he would like to do about it.

"Why do you keep asking me this question amma?" was the first thing he asked me. And so I told him why.

"I do miss my friends, but I don't want to go back to where we were staying, or even close by. I am happy where we are now. i love the place, the nature around; it is quiet, peaceful and there is so much more space around.....it's ok if I cannot meet them.....I am happy by myself. I don't need to play with children everyday. It is fine now the way it is," he added.

I was much relieved and said this to him:"So will you let me know when you want to do something about this? Maybe then we will find a way together....So I won't ask you this anymore? And you will tell me when you want to be with other children?"

"Yes. I will. Don't worry," he said nonchalantly.

A few days later, he expressed a desire to play Minecraft with someone. He wanted to play it 'live', and not online. So I did the best I could. I put out a request on the FB group for our gated community, asking if anyone would like to play or learn Minecraft or Lego. I got a response from the mother of a 3 year old girl. When I shared that with Raghav, he said:" Ya, that's fine! I can teach her. Age does not matter for friendship!" :)

How true! Don't we all have friends or people we relate to, of different ages in our circles? Then why do we want to make kids get into chicken coops when it comes to friends?

Why do we also have this manic need to 'make friends' and 'keep friends' at any cost?

Yes, we are social beings. But 'social' encompasses a whole range, a whole spectrum of needs doesn't it? We are not all social or sociable all the time. We go through phases and cycles in everything, including our friendships.

Then why do we see kids differently?
Do we think that is the only way we can allay our fears - of being different, of being alone?
Do we think friendships will make them feel good about themselves?
Do we think that will help them cope with boredom?
Do we think that will keep them occupied and less depressed or aloof?
Do we look at that as a way of us getting time for ourselves?
Is it our need or their need?
Why do we really want them to make friends?

I often feel that the answers to all our challenges and our fears lie in the questions themselves, if only we hold and stay with those questions long enough, instead of rushing in to 'sort' them out. All we need is that precious pause......

My tryst with working with kids and adults with special needs, especially autism, and knowing someone with autism, quite closely, including wondering initially if my son had any 'difficulties', has stirred up many questions. Hard questions that I asked myself repeatedly over the years. Yeah....it is funny that when we know that a kid has a 'special need' or a 'disability', we are immediately able to discount their behaviour towards us. We are immediately more accepting of them, more compassionate towards them. We at least pause for a moment and wonder why he/she might be doing or saying something. But we don't react the same way to kids who we think are 'normal'. What IS 'normal' anyway?

But we also have this idea of 'being sociable and social' so deeply ingrained in us I feel, that we want to 'fix' that in kids who aren't; we want to make them learn how to cope and adjust to the world, and so we 'expect' and 'teach' them social skills. Of course there may be some who want to interact but don't know how to, but there may also be some who simply don't want to, because they don't feel a need to. Are we really 'listening' to them? Each one of them? Are we giving them the space that they want and need, to be themselves? Sometimes I wonder if we do.

So yes, my son still screams when he is frustrated or has reached his threshold of tolerance for noise or something else, he will scream irrespective of who is or isn't around - at home, outside, anywhere;  he can look through people as if they did not exist at all, he can be so completely lost in his world that he wouldn't even remember to greet someone; and at the same time he can be most understanding and 'friendly' and be chatty with people - even complete strangers. When he needs some time by himself, or is tired, he shares that openly with his friends, and asks if they could play on their own for a while. Those who know him, understand him and give him that space. Those who don't, simply don't, and he is okay with that. And so are we.

Of course, we have had numerous conversations about how others would feel. He has himself asked me to remind him to greet or say 'thank you' to others only because they expect that. With some people, I explain to them the beauty of waiting for that to emerge on its own. With some others, we have mutually agreed to just 'please' them, as long as he feels okay about doing that in that moment.

We have stayed for extended periods of time alone with ourselves at home, hardly meeting anyone for months and years. In that period we have come to understand and love ourselves a little more. Now, when we get an opportunity to go out and be with or do things with people, we are more ready and willing to explore new ground, and feel more ease in doing that without any fears. This I think has been the fruit of our long, often challenging and arduous journey of being with our own selves.

Here are some things that I have learned from my son and our journey so far:
  • I need to first be my own best friend. I need to love all parts of me. Then, it is easier for me to be friends with others and for others to be friends with me. Then, you are not dependent in an unhealthy way on people outside of yourself.
  • If I am bored, I am bored. I don't need friends or 'stimulation' to fill up that boredom. I need to figure out for myself what I can do or not in that boredom.
  • Be Yourself. Don't change yourself just because you want people to like you. When you are yourself, the right people will love the real you. Just be prepared to wait for them,however long it takes! 
  • One needs to love oneself pretty well to be able to take 'unsociable' comments from others. And most often, the children who we think of as 'unsociable' are the ones who are mirroring what we need to look at more deeply in our own selves. I have gone through some extremely embarrassing moments when my son was 'rude', 'misbehaving' and most 'unsociable' - both in my own eyes and in the eyes of people around me. But those moments were the ones which told me how much more I needed to look within myself really, and ask myself some tough questions.
  • We each need to be given space to be able to interact on our own terms. That is the basis of true friendship and understanding.
  • Everything rests in the 'seeing' - how we choose to see what is playing out before our eyes. We can choose to see something as 'rude' and also see the same thing as an expression of someone's sensitivity to something. The way we see it moulds our response.
Yesterday, I was at the 30th anniversary function of Vidya Sagar, an organisation which works with children and adults with multiple disabilities and their families. While a few of us were chatting about old times, 30year old A, who was on the wheelchair, suddenly grabbed hold of another parent's saree and it tore. She adjusted it while this man's mother apologised for her son's behaviour. The parent however smiled, asked if he wanted her to come closer and talk to him, offered him something to eat which he refused, and then bent over and chatted with him. He was then fine. It was a beautiful, poignant moment of connection.

I feel deeply now that the way we choose to see a behaviour like this depends on the space we are in in that moment, and how we choose to see it. Can we share how we feel honestly and vulnerably, while also listening to ourselves in the other? What is that voice inside us saying? Why are we getting triggered or hurt? Perhaps if we stop and look more deeply into that space, we will know why and respond accordingly. Perhaps then we will be more inclusive, more accepting of our own selves and therefore the other. Perhaps then we will know the meaning of real friendship.

And I believe that our children are here showing us the way.....little lanterns lighting up the road less travelled....into a new world with countless, unimaginable possibilities that could be a far-cry from what we know today as 'friendship' or anything else for that matter.






Tuesday, December 23, 2014

To see what we don't want to see....

We were just leaving to go home, after spending the whole day at my parents' place with my sister and little nephews. Raghav was packing all his stuff into his bags. My little nephew was trying to help him, and picked up Raghav's new Lego creation - a train that he had just finished building over two days. As he was carrying and moving it to the bag, it fell from his hand and parts of it came off. Raghav screamed - his eyes closed tight, his hands fisted, his teeth grit hard, his whole body taut with anger. My little nephew looked a bit rattled and upset as he clung to my father, hugging him tight while sitting on his lap. He didn't budge from there for the rest of the time that we were there.

Soon, there were more screams from Raghav (when Raghav screams, he really SCREAMS!!) as he picked up the pieces and figured out that one piece was actually broken. Six adults (each with their own thoughts), one bewildered little baby, one kid who was like a mini volcano erupting, and another little kid who seemed confused and upset.

Raghav ran away screaming into another room. I went with him. For the first time I think, Raghav allowed me to go near him and hold him. Usually he needs and would ask for his space (to be physically away) when he was going through some strong emotions. I held him and asked if he was feeling angry. "I am really really very angry!!!....with A!!", he screamed, bursting into tears. "That piece is broken.....it cannot be fixed! he should not hold it that way...he must carry it with two hands!", he cried.

I understood how he felt. This was a new set that we had got him for Christmas, after many many months. Both my nephew and Raghav had sat down to build with their new sets today. Raghav was heartbroken that the set he had wanted for so long, what he had waited to get and build for so long, was broken. It was a little piece that was broken. But it was not only a little piece.

My husband and I sat down to try and figure out with Raghav as to which piece had broken. Everyone else was around watching us.
My mother added: " What do you get out of screaming? Is it going to get fixed?"
Raghav replied vehemently, screaming even more:"I can't help it! I am angry!"
And I added quietly: "He is very angry and so wants to scream."

My husband picked up the train and examined it. Raghav showed him where it had broken. We realised that it could not be fixed, nor could it be stuck with strong glue, as that part would then become immobile. But the train could still move on tracks. My husband showed that to him. We suggested that he could remember to carry that part separately in his hand, every time he was carrying the train, so that it would not fall off again. Raghav agreed. He then tried to fix the other parts that had come off. But they weren't fixing properly as he was already very irritated. We heard a few more screams as he tried to fix them again and again. My husband suggested that he put everything in the bag as they were and go home and try and fix them, as he would be in a better space - calmer and less angry. "No, I won't be calmer!", Raghav screamed.

All he was looking for was for us to stay with him and his anger in that moment. He was not asking for it to be fixed or wished away. "I am very angry. Can you all just listen to that and accept that? Can you stop telling me how to make it go away?" Those were his words without words. I am not sure how many of us really 'listened' to that.

I looked at my nephew. I wanted to hug them both. But realised that both were not in a space to receive that. I asked him if he was trying to help Raghav, when he carried the train. He nodded and said yes. I turned to Raghav and shared with him how A was trying to help him, but that it probably slipped from his hand and fell. "That's not the way he should carry it", said Raghav. "I know, but A didn't know that," I added. And we left it at that.

Soon enough, he finished fixing the parts that he had been trying to fix through his anger, and was ready to leave. I went over to my little nephew, rubbed his back gently and whispered to him that Raghav was now very angry, but that he would probably be okay tomorrow. I told him we would meet tomorrow and we said our byes to leave to go home. My husband whispered to Raghav, asking if he would like to go and give A a hug and say something to him. Raghav shook his head vehemently, refusing to do that. We said bye to everyone and left quietly.

Later that night, just before getting ready to sleep, I asked Raghav how he was feeling.
"I feel better now. I am not angry," he said with a little smile.
I told him how I had spoken to my sister and that they were planning to come over to our place tomorrow.
"Ok....oh, then I have to remember to give those two red Lego pieces to A....his set doesn't have them, or he has lost them....I want to give two of mine to him, so he can finish off that car tomorrow. I have to help him finish that", he said. We both smiled, hugged each other and went to sleep.

So much had transpired in that little time. There was so much to learn for all of us. It wasn't about the children. It wasn't about what had happened. It was about a lot of other things....things to do with each of us and how we look at ourselves and our own thoughts and emotions. What was important to us? The process or the end? To sort things out and 'fix' them, or take things as they are, let things be and find their own levels in their own time?

This was my learning today....

Often we are so focused on the pattern we are creating or the stitches we are making, mostly focusing on trying to 'finish' the pattern or stitch, instead of watching how we are holding the cloth or needle, how we are moving it, and how it disappears into one hole and comes out through the other.

It is in these gaps between holes that the most important things happen.

Yet, we often forget this and get lost in how we can get down to 'bridging' the gap between the holes.

This is what we mostly do with all our interactions. We are often so focused on finding solutions and managing the situation, rather than staying with the emotions and our humanness. We get caught in the 'product' instead of the 'process'.


A knitter only appears to be knitting yarn. 
Also being knitted are winks, mischief, sighs, 
fragrant possibilities, wild dreams. 

~Dr. SunWolf


I also want to add here, the lovely piece about ANGER, written by the poet David Whyte. I feel that it is quite a misunderstood emotion and one that is often wished away by most people.....

ANGER

is the deepest form of compassion, for another, for the world, for the self, for a life, for the body, for a family and for all our ideals, all vulnerable and all, possibly about to be hurt. Stripped of physical imprisonment and violent reaction, anger is the purest form of care, the internal living flame of anger always illuminates what we belong to, what we wish to protect and what we are willing to hazard ourselves for. What we usually call anger is only what is left of its essence when it reaches the lost surface of our mind or our body’s incapacity to hold it, or the limits of our understanding. What we name as anger is actually only the incoherent physical incapacity to sustain this deep form of care in our outer daily life; the unwillingness to be large enough and generous enough to hold what we love helplessly in our bodies or our mind with the clarity and breadth of our whole being.

What we have named as anger on the surface is the violent outer response to our own inner powerlessness, a powerlessness connected to such a profound sense of rawness and care that it can find no proper outer body or identity or voice, or way of life to hold it. What we call anger is often simply the unwillingness to live the full measure of our fears or of our not knowing, in the face of our love for a wife, in the depth of our caring for a son, in our wanting the best, in the face of simply being alive and loving those with whom we live.

Our anger breaks to the surface most often through our feeling there is something profoundly wrong with this powerlessness and vulnerability; anger too often finds its voice strangely, through our incoherence and through our inability to speak, but anger in its pure state is the measure of the way we are implicated in the world and made vulnerable through love in all its specifics: a daughter, a house, a family, an enterprise, a land or a colleague. 


Anger turns to violence and violent speech when the mind refuses to countenance the vulnerability of the body in its love for all these outer things - we are often abused or have been abused by those who love us but have no vehicle to carry its understanding, who have no outer emblems of their inner care or even their own wanting to be wanted. Lacking any outer vehicle for the expression of this inner rawness they are simply overwhelmed by the elemental nature of love’s vulnerability. In their helplessness they turn their violence on the very people who are the outer representation of this inner lack of control.

But anger truly felt at its center is the essential living flame of being fully alive and fully here, it is a quality to be followed to its source, to be prized, to be tended, and an invitation to finding a way to bring that source fully into the world through making the mind clearer and more generous, the heart more compassionate and the body larger and strong enough to hold it. What we call anger on the surface only serves to define its true underlying quality by being a complete and absolute mirror-opposite of its true internal essence.

©2014 David Whyte
Excerpted from ‘ANGER’ From CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words