Are we allergic to sadness?

I want to start this particular post with a disclaimer:                 
As you read please be clear that I'm not (nor am I ever) trying to suggest that a certain outcome is inevitable for the children with whom I work based on the scenarios about which I speak.  I am however trying to point out some things I notice about our culture and our values that I see reflected in the way that we treat and educate our youngest citizens.  Many of these things do not sit right with me and I hope that by calling attention to them, perhaps I can raise awareness (even if only within myself) and become more adept at practicing the things which I believe will lead to a more full, loving, accepting, honest, and real community (both in my classroom and in the world as a whole).  


That being said, today I want to write about how I see our society's allergy to "negative" feelings being played out in early childhood centers, and the impact that I believe it has on many of us later in our lives.  


A glimpse into the classroom...


One of the 3 year olds in the room next door "Jimmy" always seems upset when his mom has to go to work.  Every day he clings to her leg and a cries.  She works as hard as she can to reassure him that he will be okay, and that she will be back.  Then, given that she has to be at work at a certain time, and that that time is fast approaching, she begins to get frustrated, and eventually leaves with him still crying.  


Each day as this is unfolding one of his teachers comes over to help the mom leave, and get Jimmy to stop crying.  The teacher brings him a puzzle, reads to him, and tells him he should play.  When Jimmy doesn't stop crying, more teachers get involved.  They begin to get more and more frantic trying to find a solution that will make the crying stop.  Other children begin to notice and come over to ask what is wrong.  The teacher tells them "Jimmy just needs some space.  Why don't you go play?" Eventually after several minutes of unsuccessful efforts to console him the teacher resorts to telling him to stop.  "You're a big boy Jimmy.  You shouldn't cry."


A glimpse into my personal life...

Several years ago I went through a fairly traumatic break-up with someone who I cared for a great deal.  When we broke up I have to admit I was a bit of a mess.  Each day I would wake up with this sadness hanging over my head, not quite knowing what to do about it.  What made the situation more challenging was that before every time we would get together, my (very well intentioned) friends would ask, "are you okay?"  This question was one of the most challenging parts of the break-up for me, because each time I would have to evaluate if I should bother to go or not.  I felt like, if I wasn't "okay" then no one would really want to spend time with me, so I spent a lot of time pretending I was okay (when I wasn't) or going off on my own when I could pretend no more. 

As I sat in the classroom with the toddler crying because his mom had to go, and watched all the hubbub that was created to stop him from crying, I was acutely aware of the connection that I shared with this child.  His teachers weren't offering him puzzles just because they had an interest in his well being, and nor were my friends asking if I was okay because they really wanted to hear the answer.  They were asking me if I was okay so that they would know how to "deal" with it if were to suddenly burst into tears.  My friends and the teachers alike were so uncomfortable with our sadness that they just wanted it to stop.   Our sadness (or at least the expression of it) made them feel so powerless that they tried everything they could think of to stop it.  What they missed in their efforts to control the expression of our feelings, was the one thing that would actually help us feel better; to know that it was okay... for us to be sad.

A glimpse back into the classroom (run differently)...

Jimmy's mom drops him off in the morning.  He is sad and he cries.  A teacher walks up to him and says, "Jimmy.  I see that you are really sad.  You're mom does have to go now, and that is really sad for you.  If you need to cry for a few minutes to help yourself feel better that is fine.  I will sit here with you until you are ready to do something else."  Jimmy continues to cry.  The teacher continues to sit with him.  Soon she says, "You know Jimmy, sometimes I miss my mom too.  She lives really far away.  Do you know what I do sometimes when I'm feeling sad that I can't see her?  I write her a note.  Would you like to write a note to your mom?" Jimmy looks at her and shakes his head "no".  

Another child comes over, and says to the teacher, "What's wrong?  Why is Jimmy crying?" The teacher replies, "Jimmy is feeling really sad because his mom had to go to work.  Have you ever felt that way?" The child thinks for a moment, "Yeah.  I sad my mom go too." Then the teacher asks, "What do you do to help yourself feel better when that happens?" The child stops to think.  The teacher says, "sometimes when I am really sad I need a hug, or I need to talk to my friends.  Sometimes I just need to cry, and sometimes I like to do some artwork, or read a book."  The child says, "I read a book." The teacher suggests, "Do you think that it might help Jimmy feel better to read a book?" The child nods her head, runs over to the book shelf, grabs a book and comes running back.  "Let's ask him." the teacher suggests.  "You wanna read a book?" the child asks.  Jimmy shakes his head "no".  The teacher says, "hmmm.... I wonder what will help him feel better?"  

Another child comes running over with a toy car.  He tries to hand it to Jimmy.  Jimmy says, "mmmmmm!" and turns his head away still crying.  "I guess he doesn't want to use that car..." the teacher says, "I wonder if there is something else that can help him?" At this point Jimmy has stopped crying and has started to look around the room.  Also four or five children have gathered together to help in this quest.  Jimmy, the teacher and the other children begin to walk around the classroom together looking at the things that are available.  "Playdough" one child suggests to no avail.  Then as they enter the kitchen they see several toys placed out on the table to dry.  

Jimmy sees a toy carrot laying on the table.  He looks at the teacher and says, "I will only feel better if I can use that toy carrot."  The teacher passes him the carrot and Jimmy goes off with his classmates smiling.  

So what...

In the first scenario Jimmy is  given a puzzle and told he is okay, whereas in the second scenario he is offered some options, and he learns that he is in fact okay.  This to me is a key difference, and it makes me think about the people in my life who I have seen struggle with addiction.  

I believe that for many of them they sought out substances to numb themselves because thier whole lives other people had taken it upon themselves to "fix" the "problem" of their sadness, grief, anger or other strong emotions, and they no longer understood that it was within their power to emerge from that discomfort as a whole human being.  They had been told (probably since the age of 5) that they should "be a big boy" and had, like me felt the need to isolate themselves unless they were "okay" because their friends wouldn't know how to deal with it. 

By the time my ex was 20, when he was sad about our break-up I literally witnessed him wedged between the wall and the couch, covering his face with his hands and curled into a ball having a panic attack and repeating over and over "I feel so unsafe right now, I feel so unsafe right now." because he hadn't cried since he was seven.  Is that what it means to "be a big boy?"  

For me this issue extends far beyond the classroom.  Each time I think about giving someone a metaphorical puzzle, or telling them "it will be okay" I stop myself, and instead think about the opportunity I have to bear witness to their own capacity for self-healing and their need to perhaps not be "okay" but just to be.  I think about the fact that when I was in the throws of my depression all I really wanted was someone to sit with me quietly while I cried without judging me, or fixing me.  

In looking at the second classroom scenario, Jimmy walked away smiling.  I believe that the community that was built by allowing sadness to be a part of it, was a much more deep and true one than if all the children were walking around afraid to cry and unable to smile, and I hope to be able to build that type of community in my school as well as in my life.