by Adele Faber
“My parents’ needs always came before mine. They made their problems my problems. I was the oldest of six and was expected to cook and clean and take care of my brothers and sisters. I had no time to be a teenager.”
“I had the opposite. I was so babied and overprotected, I didn’t feel capable of making any decisions without my parents’ approval. It took years of therapy for me to begin to have some confidence in myself.”
“My parents were from another country—a whole other culture. In my house everything was strictly prohibited. I couldn’t buy what I wanted, couldn’t go where I wanted, couldn’t wear what I wanted. Even when I was a senior in high school, I had to ask permission for everything.”
A woman named Laura was the last to speak.
“My mother went to the other extreme. She was far too lenient. She didn’t enforce any rules. I came and went as I pleased. I could stay out till two or three in the morning and nobody cared. There was never a curfew or any kind of intervention. She even let me get high in the house. At sixteen, I was doing coke and drinking. The scary part was how fast I went downhill. I still experience anger at my mother for not even trying to give me structure. She destroyed many years of my life.”
The group was silent. People were feeling the impact of what they had just heard. Finally Jim commented, “Boy, parents may mean well, but they can really mess a kid up.”
“But we all survived,” Michael protested. “We grew up, got married, started families of our own. One way or another, we managed to become functioning adults.”
“That may be true,” said Joan, the woman who had referred to her therapy, “but too much time and energy went into getting past the bad stuff.”
“And there are some things you never get past,” Laura added. “That’s why I’m here. My daughter is beginning to act out in ways that worry me, and I don’t want to repeat with her what my mother did to me.”
Laura’s comment propelled the group into the present. Little by little, people began to voice their current anxieties about their children:
“What concerns me is my son’s new attitude. He doesn’t want to live by anyone’s rules. He’s a rebel. Same as I was at fifteen. But I hid it. He’s out in the open. Insists on pushing the envelope.”
“My daughter is only twelve, but her ego craves acceptance—especially from boys. I’m afraid that one day she’ll put herself in a compromising position, just to be popular.”
“I worry about my son’s schoolwork. He’s not applying himself anymore. I don’t know if he’s too into sports or just being lazy.”
“All my son seems to care about now are his new friends and being cool. I don’t like him hanging out with them. I think they’re a bad influence.”
“My daughter is like two different people. Outside the house she’s a doll—sweet, pleasant, polite. But at home, forget it. The minute I tell her she can’t do something or have something, she gets nasty.”
“Sounds like my daughter. Only the one she gets nasty with is her new stepmother. It’s a very tense situation—especially when we’re all together for the weekend.”
“I worry about the whole teen scene. Kids these days don’t know what they’re smoking or drinking. I’ve heard too many stories about parties where guys slip drugs into a girl’s drink and about date rape.”
The air was heavy with the group’s collective anxiety.
Karen laughed nervously. “Well now that we know what the problems are—quick, we need some answers!”
“There are no quick answers,” I said. “Not with teenagers. You can’t protect them from all the dangers in today’s world, or spare them the emotional turmoil of their adolescent years, or get rid of a pop culture that bombards them with unwholesome messages. But if you can create the kind of climate in your home where your kids feel free to express their feelings, there’s a good chance they’ll be more open to hearing your feelings. More willing to consider your adult perspective. More able to accept your restraints. More likely to be protected by your values.”
“You mean there’s still hope!” Laura exclaimed. “It’s not too late? Last week I woke up with this terrible feeling of panic. All I could think was that my daughter wasn’t a little girl anymore and there was no going back. I lay there paralyzed and thought about all the things I did wrong with her, and then I felt so depressed and so guilty.
“Then it hit me. Hey, I’m not dead yet. She’s not out of the house yet. And I’m always going to be her mother. Maybe I can learn to be a better mother. Please, tell me it’s not too late.”
“It’s been my experience,” I assured her, “that it’s never too late to improve a relationship with a child.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It was time to start the first exercise.
“Pretend I’m your teenager,” I said to the group. “I’m going to tell you a few things that are on my mind and ask you to respond in a way that’s guaranteed to turn most kids off. Here we go:
“I don’t know if I want to go to college.”
My “parents” jumped right in:
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you’re going to college.”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I can’t believe you would even say that. Do you want to break your grandparents’ heart?”
Everyone laughed. I continued airing my worries and grievances:
“Why do I always have to be the one to take out the garbage?”
“Because you never do anything else around here except eat and sleep.”
“Why do you always have to be the one to complain?”
“How come your brother doesn’t give me a hard time when I ask him for help?”
“We had this long lecture on drugs today from a policeman. What a crock! All he did was try to scare us.”
“Scare you? He’s trying to knock some sense into your head.”
“If I ever catch you using drugs, you’ll really have something to be scared of.”
“The trouble with you kids today is that you think you know everything. Well, let me tell you, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
“I don’t care if I’ve got a fever. No way am I missing that concert!”
“That’s what you think. You’re not going anywhere tonight—except bed. “
“Why would you want to do anything that stupid? You’re still sick.”
“It’s not the end of the world. There’ll be plenty of other concerts. Why don’t you play the band’s latest album, close your eyes, and pretend you’re at the concert.”
Michael snorted, “Oh yeah, that oughta go over real big!”
“Actually,” I said, “as your child, nothing I heard just now went over ‘real big’ with me. You dismissed my feelings, ridiculed my thoughts, criticized my judgment, and gave me unsolicited advice. And you did it all so easily. How come?”
“Because it’s what’s in our heads,” Laura said. “It’s what we heard when we were kids. It’s what comes naturally.”
“I also think it’s natural,” I said, “for parents to push away painful or upsetting feelings. It’s hard for us to listen to our teenagers express their confusion or resentment or disappointment or discouragement. We can’t bear to see them unhappy. So it’s with the best of intentions that we dismiss their feelings and impose our adult logic. We want to show them the ‘right’ way to feel.
“And yet, it’s our listening that can give the greatest comfort. It’s our acceptance of their unhappy feelings that can make it easier for our kids to cope with them.”
“Oh boy!” Jim exclaimed. “If my wife were here tonight, she’d say, ‘See, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Don’t give me logic. Don’t ask all those questions. Don’t tell me what I did wrong or what I should do next time. Just listen?”
“You know what I realize?” Karen said. “Most of the time I do listen—to everyone except my kids. If one of my friends were upset, I wouldn’t dream of tell
ing her what to do. But with my kids it’s a whole other story. I move right in. Maybe it’s because I’m listening to them as a parent. And as a parent, I feel I have to fix things.’ “
“That’s the big challenge,” I said. “To shift our thinking from ‘how do I fix things?’ to ‘how do I enable my kids to fix things for themselves?’ “
I reached into my briefcase and handed out the illustrations I had prepared for this first meeting. “Here,” I said, “in cartoon form are some basic principles and skills that can be helpful to our teenagers when they’re troubled or upset. In each case you’ll see the contrast between the kind of talk that can add to their distress and the kind that can help them to deal with it. There are no guarantees that our words will produce the positive outcomes you see here, but at the very least they do no damage.”
Instead of Dismissing Feelings …
Mom doesn’t want Abby to feel bad. But by dismissing her daughter’s distress, she unwittingly adds to it.
Identify Thoughts and Feelings
Mom can’t take away all of Abby’s pain, but by putting her thoughts and feelings into words, she helps her daughter deal with reality and gather the courage to move on.
Instead of Ignoring Feelings …
Mom has good intentions. She wants her son to do well in school. But by criticizing his behavior, dismissing his worry, and telling him what to do, she makes it harder for him to tell himself what to do.
Acknowledge Feelings with a Word or Sound (Oh … mmm … uh …I see.)
Mom’s minimal, empathic responses help her son feel understood and free him to focus on what he needs to do.
Instead of Logic and Explanations …
When Dad responds to his daughter’s unreasonable request with a reasonable explanation, she becomes even more frustrated.
Give in Fantasy What You Can’t Give in Reality
By giving his daughter what she wants in fantasy, Dad makes it a little easier for her to accept reality.
Instead of Going Against Your Better Judgment …
In order to make her son happy and avoid a battle, Mom ignores her better judgment and takes the path of least resistance.
Accept Feelings as You Redirect Unacceptable Behavior
By showing empathy for her son’s predicament, Mom makes it a little easier for him to accept her firm limits.
The comments began even before everyone had finished reading.
“You must’ve been in my house! Everything you shouldn’t say sounds exactly like me.”
“What bothers me is that all these scenarios have such happy endings. My kids would never give up or give in that easily.”
“But this isn’t about getting kids to give up or give in. It’s about trying to really hear what they’re feeling.”
“Yeah, but to do that, you have to listen in a different way.”
“And speak in a different way. It’s like learning a whole new language.”
“And to become comfortable with a new language,” I said, “to make it your own, it helps to practice. Let’s start now. Suppose I play your teenager again. I’ll express my same concerns, only this time, Mom and Dad, you’ll react by using any one of the skills you’ve just seen illustrated.”
People immediately started thumbing through their pages of cartoons. I gave them a moment before launching into my list of worries. Some of the group’s responses to me came quickly; others took time. People started, stopped, rephrased, and finally found the words that satisfied them.
“I don’t know if I want to go to college.”
“Sounds as if you’re having some real doubts about it.”
“You’re wondering if college is right for you.”
“Know what would be cool? If you could look into a crystal ball and see what your life would be like if you didn’t go to college … or if you did.”
“Why do I always have to be the one to take out the garbage?”
“Boy, I hear how much you resent it.”
“It’s not your favorite activity. Tomorrow let’s talk about rotating chores. Right now I need your help.”
“Wouldn’t it be great if the garbage would take itself out?”
“We had this long lecture on drugs today from a policeman. What a crock! All he did was try to scare us.”
“So you think he was exaggerating—trying to frighten kids into staying away from drugs.”
“Scare tactics really turn you off.”
“Sounds as if you wish adults would give kids straight information and trust them to make responsible decisions.”
“I don’t care if I’ve got a fever. No way am I missing that concert!”
“What rotten luck to be sick—on today of all days! You’ve been looking forward to that concert for weeks.”
“I know. You had your heart set on going. The problem is, with a fever of 101, you belong in bed.”
“Even though you know there will be plenty of other concerts, you sure wish you didn’t have to miss this one.”
When the exercise finally came to an end, people looked pleased with themselves. “I think I’m beginning to get it,” Laura called out. “The idea is to try to put into words what you think the kid is feeling, but hold back on what you’re feeling.”
“Now that’s the one part I object to,” Jim said. “When do I get to talk about my feelings—to say what I want to say? For instance: ‘Doing chores is a contribution to family life.’ ‘Going to college is a privilege; it can change your life.’ ‘Doing drugs is dumb; it can ruin your life.’ “
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, “after all, we’re the parents. When do we get to talk about what we believe or what we value?”
“There will always be time for you to get your message across,” I said, “but you have a better chance of being heard if you start by letting your kids know they’ve been heard. Even then there are no guarantees. They may accuse you of not understanding, of being unreasonable or old-fashioned. But make no mistake. Despite their put-downs and protests, your teenagers want to know exactly where you stand. Your values and beliefs play a vital role in determining their choices.”
I took a deep breath. We had covered a lot of ground this evening. It was time for the parents to go home and test what they had learned. Up till now, they had been riding on the strength of my convictions. Only by putting the skills into action with their own teenagers and observing the results for themselves could they develop their own convictions.
“See you next week,” I said. “I look forward to hearing about your experiences.”
The Stories
I didn’t know what would come of our first meeting. It’s one thing to try to apply new principles to hypothetical problems when you’re sitting around with other parents in a workshop. It’s quite another when you’re all alone at home, trying to cope with real kids and real problems. And yet, many of the parents did just that. Here, with slight editing, is a sampling of their experiences. (You’ll notice that most of the stories come from the same people who participated actively in class. However, some come from parents who seldom joined the discussion but who wanted to share—in writing—how their new skills had affected their relationships with their teenagers.)
Joan
My daughter Rachel has seemed down in the dumps lately. But any time I’d ask her to tell me what was wrong, she’d say, “Nothing.” I’d say, “How can I help you if you won’t tell me?” She’d say, “I don’t want to talk about it.” I’d say, “Maybe if you talk about it, you’d feel better.” Then she’d throw me a look and that ended that.
But after our discussion in class last week, I decided to try the “new approach.” I said, “Rachel, you seem so unhappy lately. Whatever it is, something is making you feel really bad.”
Well, the tears started rolling down her cheeks, and little by little the whole story came out. The two girls who had been her friends all through grade school and middle school were now part of the new popular crowd, and they were freezing her o
ut. They didn’t save a seat for her at lunch the way they used to, or invite her to any of their parties. They hardly even said hello to her anymore when they passed her in the hall. And she was positive it was one of them who sent an e-mail to some other kids about how the “dorky” clothes she wears make her look fat and don’t even have brand names.
I was shocked. I had heard that this kind of thing went on in school, and I knew how cruel some girls could be, but I never imagined that anything like this would ever happen to my daughter.
All I wanted to do was take away her pain. Tell her to forget about those nasty, rotten girls. She’d make new friends. Better friends. Friends who would appreciate what a great kid she is. But I didn’t say anything like that. Instead, I just talked about her feelings. I said, “Oh honey, that’s rough. To find out that the people you trusted and thought were friends aren’t really your friends has got to hurt.”
“How could they be so mean!” she said and cried some more. Then she told me about another girl in her class they were “dissing” online—saying she had body odor and smelled of pee.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. I told Rachel that this sort of behavior says everything about the kind of people they are and nothing about anybody else. Evidently the only way these girls can feel special, part of the “in-group,” is to make sure everyone else is kept out.
She nodded her head, and we talked for a long time after that—about “true” friends and “false” friends and how to tell the difference. After a while I could see that she was starting to feel a little better.
But I couldn’t say the same for myself. So the next day, after Rachel left for school, I contacted her guidance counselor. I told her that the call was confidential, but that I thought she might want to know what was going on.
