I heard the shrill screaming before I saw the heap on the floor, formerly known as my son. I wasn’t sure what had happened but I could feel the emotions of him and my husband swirling like a storm cloud overhead. 

Before I could ask, my husband blurted out, “He’s upset because I wouldn’t let him lock me out of the house!” 

My toddler looked up to meet my gaze … then so too did my husband. 

My initial response was to let out a little snort (I mean, it was a smidge comical from my view), but I suppressed my laughter because it was transparent that neither was in a laughing mood. 

My husband was becoming increasingly more agitated (I think I saw lightning bolts shooting from his eyes) and my son was melting further into the floor (any further and he would descend into the basement).

While my husband was busy laying on the logic to our three-year-old, I could feel my impulse to control the situation - I wanted to take over and mediate. 

But no one was listening to me, and I could feel my playful mood being drowned out by the chaos of the moment. I was starting to feel frustrated, and eventually, super annoyed. I could tell I was about to flip my lid, and my impulse was to dismiss this circus as insanity. 

But then, I did the best thing I could have possibly done - nothing. I did nothing and everything all at once. 

I paused and silently asked myself one simple question, a question I learned in a parenting course I took. The one question that kept me from reacting to my husband, my son, and the situation as a whole. 

Am I trying to be right, to control, or to connect?

The thing is, if I am trying to be right, then that means someone else is wrong, and since parenting (marriage, any relationship) is relational, if someone is right and someone is wrong, that means no one really wins. 

My rightness is only to the point of my own perception, because beyond that is someone’s truth about what is happening. I have realized that we often see the world or a situation as we are, not as it truly is, so instead of making someone right and someone wrong, I can pause, communicate clearly, and let others be heard with compassion. 

No one likes to be dominated and told what they have to, need to, or should do. This disempowering form of communication is a sure-fire way to elicit a strong defense mechanism in others --- aka to end in a power struggle.

I reminded myself, "The only thing I truly have control over right now are my thoughts, my words, and my actions." and then I thought, "How can I empower my husband and my son, instead of yelling at them to just stop being so ridiculous? 

I'm learning the answer is almost always to connect with them.

And that is the action I chose … connection. 

Learning how to do this has changed not only how I parent, but my marriage.

For the first few years of our marriage, my husband and I had actually been shutting down our big emotions left and right, even punishing one another for feeling them. I had no idea that it was okay to feel things like mad and sad without having to blame someone else. 

In wanting to help my son with his emotions, I have been learning about my own.

The biggest thing I've learned is that our son isn't giving us a hard time, he is having a hard time. 

It was this shift in thinking that changed what happened next. 

Instead of yelling, I got down low - below my son’s eye level, so he felt safe - and I drew him in close. He cried in my arms until his sobs turned to sniffles. Then, I said, “You seem upset. You really wanted to lock daddy outside.”

My son nodded. My husband stayed quiet. 

While I didn’t agree with my son’s behavior (and we would address that eventually), I could still accept how my son was feelings. 

I watched my son's brain shift from his reflexive, defensive brainstem (where we go when we feel unsafe or overwhelmed) into his emotional limbic brain, just like I'd learned about in class. 

This is when it hit me --- "my son wasn't giving me a hard time, he was having a hard time." 

I finally put the pieces together (#newbrother #stayinghomemore #sharingmom). With a new baby in the house, my son was desperate to feel in control … even if it meant acting in ways that seemed ridiculous or defiant to me and my husband. 

My husband knelt down to hug my son, and I watched my boys cradle one another, standing in their power and their vulnerability all at once … wanting to connect with each other more than to be right. 

My biggest take away from all of this is that, as parents, we may not agree with the behavior we are seeing, but we can always validate the emotion behind it. 

Now, if you are reading this and thinking that I was just a big push-over in this situation, the story doesn’t end there.

Once our son’s brain was regulated and he was better able to hear and receive the lesson we wanted to teach, he and I took a time-in. 

We sat in our calming space, read a book, and then we talked about what had happened. My son used our posters to name his feelings, pointing to "angry", and then I named mine, "frustrated". We talked about the different calming strategies and how we could manage our sad and mad feelings the next time we felt them. 

We've been talking time-in's together for about two weeks, using the card games and the plush bear/book that came with our kit when we were feeling calm, so he already likes the space.

This calm moment gave us the chance to set a new family agreement to not lock people out of the house, and then we moved on with our day feeling closer, instead of further apart. 

One question transformed this challenging (triggered much?) moment I was having into a teachable one:

Am I trying to be right, to control, or to connect?

I feel happy and a little proud that my son is learning something I did not learn growing up --- namely, that mistakes can help us learn and grow.

I grew up thinking I needed to be perfect in order to be loved.

"If I do bad (like, if I disappoint someone, or make a mistake)... I am bad" --- 

Ummmm, actually nooooo, this is not true, and I'm okay if passing this not-right-thought down to yet another generation stops with me. 

So, today, I am thankful for the power of this pause. 

If my husband and I were still using time-outs, I would have completely missed out on all of the healing and growing that I am doing, not to mention the little moments of connection we are sharing with our son.

I am learning things about myself that I was never taught as a child. Things like, "I am worthy", and "I am enough, even as I learn and grow" ... 

And so is my son.