Sounds like a good mock-kiddie film noir, right?
I’m not talking about bullies. I’m just talking about the ways that children express and handle fear of trying certain playground activities.
My oldest is at an age where she can carry fear intensely, when she has any. She is a pretty brave spirit, but what fears she has, she feels very deeply. She creates a scenario in her head, and it’s hard to get her to let it go. She has a very all-or-nothing personality. The good thing, I suppose, is that she has enough confidence to set limitations on things she’s not ready to, like when she first took gymnastics and did not want to be spun upside-down. She’d say, “no tumbling,” and that was that. Now of course she’s an ace, but that’s because she’s practiced it. She needs to be met with patience, but with firmness, too.
At the playground on Sunday, there was a bridge leading from one section of the jungle gym to another. The bridge curved downward so that you sank a bit and then rose. It was metallic and it was firm, not one of those Indiana Jones -type bridges that moves as you do. Nevertheless, my oldest had it in her head that when I had crossed the bridge the thing bent down lower. While probably not true, she perceived it so, and was now afraid, terrified, in fact, that she could not cross the bridge without falling down.
I offered to hold her hand once. I carried her once. But I made it clear that she would have to do it herself eventually, if she wanted to play. I also told her that there was no reason to stay so upset, because it was easy enough to avoid the bridge if she wanted to. “There’s no reason you have to go over the bridge. There are other was to get to the other side.” But that was not good enough. She wanted to go over but was afraid to. She had become locked in the drama of the moment. We went aside a few times, while my little one was running all over the place, including across the bridge a thousand times.
It’s a hard thing to know what to say when your little child speaks of fears like this. You want to acknowledge that it’s scary. You want to tell them to just deal with it. You want to hold their hand. You want to go home. All of those feelings and more.
We went across again, the three of us, holding hands. Then she did it again, on her own. And again. Again. Again. She was still shaking with fear the first couple times. But she was running and finally getting through it.
We had to leave not too long after she overcame this fear, because it was time for the little sister’s nap. I was proud of my big girl for staying with it and working it through. I wish I knew just what it was that made her afraid, and I wish I knew exactly what I did that helped her make it across. I’d bottle it and sell it if I could.
I can only say that I was patient and tried very hard to listen to her fears, not easy to do when watching a crazy three-year-old at the same time. I didn’t force her to do anything. I would have insisted on going home only when it was actually time to do so. Maybe patience is enough. Lord knows I lost most of that when I saw my car had a ticket on it because my registration had expired…