Displaying items by tag: teens
We know that our children are being raised with extraordinary levels of anxiety these days. You might argue that your anxiety as a child or teen was just as horrific. But hell, you made it: you grew up and now you are raising your own family. So what’s the big deal?
I beg of you – just as we hated when our parents compared their growing up to our childhood – can we just stop comparing our childhood anxieties to those of our children today? When has a comparison of fear, anxiety, trauma, or bullying, ever led to a legitimate scale of whose feelings/reactions are more real? More worthy of attention? More painful?
I, for one, never feared a person entering my school with a weapon of any kind, with an intention to kill as many as possible – for revenge, for notoriety, or just for the sheer hell of it. I didn’t think twice of who walked down my hallway.
A stranger my own age or a strange adult in my school was merely reason to gossip: who was the newbie? There was no fear; there was intrigue.
But that was then.
And this is now.
Still, even as my own children began to face school with increased security, hall passes, guest check-ins, and security cameras, I remained oblivious. Teaching was happening. Homework. Tests. All the extracurricular stuff that my gas tank needed constant refills for. My kids seemed unaffected by what was slowly infiltrating their school days.
I'm not even sure when we reached that moment when doors were locked and every guest was buzzed in from the only entrance enter-able. It was strange when I needed to present my official ID to receive an official school ID just to cross from the security desk (when did they put that in?) to the guidance counselor’s office not five steps away to discuss colleges and the “after” life.
Early on, reports of rare, horrible events were far, far away from my daughters' still-young ears; my ability to control what they saw and what they heard was remarkable by today's standards. By the time they reached their tweens, social media had the eyes and ears of their friends and peers. And there was an uptick in life-and-death moments in schools. Kids were talking. I needed to listen.
I am still listening.
It’s so much easier to see that their school day has a level of anxiety that mine never had. Not with a fire drill, tornado drill, or even a nuclear threat.
Today, practice lockdowns have become so common place that some schools don’t inform parents before, during, or after the fact. Some schools are having them at least once a week but on different days and at different times. Lockdowns are the new numb routine. And they are not fun.
But it's all in the name of safety: Kids need to “know what to do” no matter where they are trapped – library, gymnasium, classroom, cafeteria. They will learn that they can use anything as a weapon. Really?? Someone please ask our student, staff, and faculty survivors: Why didn’t they toss their milk carton harder? Why didn’t they try to fight back with their calculator? Why didn't they spear the person with the ruler or compass from Geometry class? Why didn’t someone pick up the fire extinguisher and run full speed at the assailant with the rifle that was spraying bullets in every direction?
So many opportunities missed? Well, let’s keep practicing. Surely, we can train our kids and our staff how to react. Don't huddle. Scatter. Don't be still. Run like hell. Don't be silent. Scream loudly to confuse the attacker. Don't sit in the dark. Keep the lights on. Or is it the opposite of all those?
The one piece of advice that experts do agree on: Turn OFF the tech. The pings, ring, dings, and vibrations become targets. Social media meant for parents and first responders becomes a goldmine of location information for the assailant. Kids become focused on tech instead of on what is happening so that instructions for what to do and where to go are unheeded. If chaos and panic could possibly get worse, tech ensures that.
No matter your stance on arming our teachers/staff/admin (and hoping that they don’t ever “go postal” themselves), the real opportunities missed are slipping away.
Our schools are harbors for all who are suffering the effects of PTSD. It's true: they may not have been shot at; they may not have directly witnessed or heard the spray of bullets or have been forced to run from anyone weidling a weapon; but they are nonetheless experiencing trauma reactions to what they have seen in their own social media world. They are now reacting to the very threat that schools are attempting to alleviate.
Too many of our schools are not providing equal and necessary attempts to engage our students, faculty, and staff in conversations. What if, for instance, schools offered just as much counseling as security? Do you know how much money your school or district is spending on security? How much on counseling? Who will tell you? AND, do you agree with those priorities?
What if all kids had access to mental health services during the school day, where the school psychologists would be included in ALL health insurance plans with a $0 copay and $0 deductible?
What if no one needed to juggle after-school and after-work schedules to get to a counselor?
What if counseling was normalized?
Instead, students (and staff, too) are fearful and hypervigilant both in crowded hallways and deserted ones. A slammed locker is the cause of a full-blown anxiety attack. Students stampeding down a hallway is cause for alarm until you realize that they are on the track team and late for practice.
Yet many of our kids (and staff, as well) don’t even know what is happening to them: why do they feel so jumpy or irritable; why can they sense their heart racing; why does their chest suddenly hurt and breathing feels strange and difficult; why does their stomach lurch – repeatedly, but without reason . . . How can we expect anyone to describe symptoms of fear and panic that have no easily identifiable trigger? And to whom do we expect our kids (or staff!) to describe these odd sensations?
The director of a well-known private college counseling center told me recently that “kids should know (that) our center is open to anyone with problems”. Of course. Except that, like many other mental health conditions, PTSD comes with a sudden onset of symptoms – and these very symptoms can often occur long after an “obvious” event. And most of the time, those afflicted with symptoms cannot begin to express what they are feeling. Without notices around our university campuses and in our high school and middle school hallways that give kids clues as to what to look for in themselves or a friend, there is no conversation to be had. There is only more fear and confusion. More silence. More shame. More: "What's wrong with me??"
And let's be clear: PTSD does not differentiate by age, economic status, academic success or stress, race, gender, . . . PTSD grabs anyone and everyone without bias and holds on tight.
Consider what school might be like if discussions regarding our mental health were not surrounded by stigma but treated with the same curiosity and respect as conversations regarding physical conditions? What if we talked at least as much about mental health as we do drugs, smoking, alcohol, or nutrition? In some schools, STD’s and birth control get more airtime if a student is not exempt and doesn't miss the one day of the only year when it is covered in class versus hallway conversations loaded with misinformation by questionable teen experts.
We cannot trust the unreliable chaos of social media to educate and help our kids feel safe in school.
The (unintended?) silence of our schools may be seen as administrators trying to hold controversy at bay while they are seen as being vigilant with security and instruction. They are doing the best they can. Undoubtedly. But not enough. Clearly.
I argue that the voices of our students must also be heard. These voices demand our attention and our respect. Not just after the fact, but long before a crisis happens." How else can we best protect the very people we are meant to teach? Sadly, there's more to our curriculum today that must be included.
One thing is very apparent: We need more voices than lockdowns.
It is time for schools to take charge. To create conversations. And to open up the doors to the offices of trained counselors and school psychologists. Academic success is short-lived when mental health conditions go unchecked. Lockdowns alone are not the answer. Arming people physically and not mentally is never the answer.
It begins by talking with (not “to”) our school communities, with encouraging dialogues that involve parents, staff, faculty, and students (of most ages).
It begins with recognizing what everyone is experiencing within so that we can create a safer environment for all.
In a world that seems to fear voices, we need to strive harder to come together to raise our children to live fearlessly with endless conversations at home, at school, in our communities, and globally.
Talk is not just free; it's freedom.
Kat Rowan, CEO and Creative Director of TiffinTalk, recommends talk. TiffinTalk’s different cards lines inspire face-to-face communications. TiffinTalk’s FindingYourVoice line for mental health professionals and students can help break through silences and shame. Themed sets include Self-Confidence; Anxiety, Fears, & Phobias; PTSD; Trauma; Self-Identity; and many others. Students are not immune to the struggles that silenced most of us at their age. TiffinTalk believes we can do better by today's kids. They also offer a Child & Teen line designed to engage parents as well as educators and specialists in meaningful, creative, and thought-provoking conversations. Talk should not be typed. Voices need to be heard.
TiffinTalk: Tech Off. Talk On.
I’m old enough to be a mom and blessed enough to still have my own mom close by.
Here’s how being a mom and having a mom works: My teens don’t listen to their mom (me) and I, in turn, don’t listen to my mom.
It’s not intentional. It’s a mom thing. It’s a kid thing.
The truth of it is: Moms do know best. They are brilliant. They have experience. And they know (and try to accept) that their children actually do hear them even if they are not listening in the moment.
Or maybe children are listening but trying to reply patiently – or impatiently – about why whatever it is that their mom is suggesting won’t work or is utterly ridiculous. Because, as kids know, clearly mothers just don’t get it. (No matter what "it" is.)
How many times have children said (preferably silently): “Duh, Mom”? And meant every single syllable?
Funny thing about mothering advice . . . most times it must simmer, be stirred and mulled, often for days, or weeks, and even occasionally for years. Most times, the child / young adult / grown child then realizes “Mom was right.”
This is almost always followed by a loud but silent “DAMMIT”.
In my more morbid moments, I panic over the thought of losing my mother.
Who will explain neutral shoes to me – yet again? Who will know how to get the stain out? Who will hang the picture, paint the wall, decorate? (Those abilities were passed down to my sisters, not to me. Thanks, Mom. Thanks a lot.) Who will convince me that I'm sick and should stay home; or that I'm not dying but should get to a doctor (with an implied "just in case")?
There are so many “hows” and “whys” that only she knows. The internet doesn’t exist for most ‘mom questions’ and it definitely doesn’t exist for mom support. And even if it did, I wouldn’t want it to anyway. There is no way I can call the internet in the middle of the day and start crying about the most critical (or inane) thing that has just overwhelmed me. One thing is for sure: the internet is no substitute for a mom. Not my mom. Not any mom.
My mom loves me unconditionally – as witnessed by all the advice she continues to give me knowing it will take me a long time – not just to understand it and agree with her – but also a long (much longer) time to appreciate her wisdom and then to thank her. (Sometimes, I wonder whether she lives for that long-delayed gratification. I know I do with my girls.)
And in my even more morbid moments, I ponder over my girls losing me.
Who will see them through the good, the bad, and the occasionally ugly? Who will they go to for advice that they won’t listen to but realize later how spot on it is? Will their other mamas (my closest friends) still be here to guide them? Will they learn to trust their own inner wisdom by then? Will they lean on each other as sisters and pseudo mothers? Because – and they don’t know this yet – they have each mothered the other throughout these years with such love and kindness. How else could we have survived in this family if we haven't all been mothering one another?
But, now is decidedly not a morbid moment. Now, I am grateful for my mom.
And for my daughters who taught me how to better appreciate their grandmama. I learned this by realizing that they were not listening to me just as I understood I was doing the same with my mom. Good grief! I chuckle now with this revelation.
So, I mentioned this to my mother. She chuckled. She already knew. Wise mother that she is.
( I knew you wouldn't approve of any of the many, but way too few pictures we have of you, Mom.
This then made me realize that I've inherited that self-critical photo gene which I've passed down to my daughters.
Thus, this is the best non-picture of not-us I could find.)
Tulips for you, Mom... your favorite. And the cat won't eat these. Plus your granddaugther took this picture in Copenhagen last month...
That may be the only political fact we can depend on. (Check that out with Politifact.)
Conversationally speaking, of course, politics are great. Usually.
But the general rule is: Don’t engage.
Stay clear of political chatter if it appears at the family reunion or holiday dinner with relatives who clearly were born on the other branches of the same (?) family tree. It's not worth pruning your tree over politics. Honestly. There’s a lot more to life. A lot. Take a few more breaths. Attempt a polite change of the impolite political topic. Then focus on quietly counting how many times you blink per minute before doing the mental math to convert this to blinks per hour, per day,... whatever it takes. Because the reality is that the quiet meditation that preempts an argument often beats a lifetime of stony family silence.
And stay clear of political chatter with friends whom you love dearly. Love them more than their politics. Sometimes silence with a smile is indeed a virtue. They are adults. They are your friends. (And that’s way better than relatives!) There is no political battle worth damaging a friendship in order to “win”. Reflect for a moment on how you got to be such great friends to begin with. Surely, it went way beyond and around politics. So, maybe you just have unusual and diverse thinking friends? Treasure those differences.
So that leaves your children. And the truth: Politics suck. Tell your kids. Tell them your truths. Then – and here’s the key to being the best parent ever – ask them their truths. And …
Ask. Ask with genuine interest and not disgust or horror ... think back to those relatives hanging out on the other side of that family tree … that should help get you in the right frame of mind here.
Listen again. Did you hear them or just think you heard them?
Trust again. Your children will have important ideas and fascinating perspectives. Some you will know and recognize. Some will surprise you.
Ask again. Certainly, there is some point you can ask them to clarify or expand upon.
If you don’t agree, then teach them – not about “correct political opinions” – but that “not agreeing” is a safe place to be. There should never be a war over politics in your house. There should only be respect for a difference of opinion. And those differences of opinion need not ever be substantiated to your standards – political discourse should never be a matter for a family tribunal.
Toddlers, preteens, teens, and young adults are still forming opinions. (Hell, some of us are still revising our own!) Our kids may be determined and stubborn but they are thinking and debating – sometimes aloud, but oftentimes silently behind the scenes as they watch and listen and take it all in. Trust that. Allow that. Be proud of that.
When you ask them to support their opinions to the best of their ability, remember that this should not involve tactical offense and defense. If your political discussions are more like political competitive sports, then they will end in political silences that will extend outward like a political cancer, silencing other topics as well.
Who wants to talk if the result is being browbeaten, teased, or taunted?
And yes, these family conversations about politics can be easy when everyone just has the same central core of beliefs still. But they can be awkward (mildly put) if you have one of “those rebellious” kids who is determined to disagree just because they never (outwardly) agree with you. But, at some level, isn’t that their job: At (almost) all costs, don’t agree with the parent units?
Show them that disagreements are safe and can be welcome. And that there is always room for anyone to ask questions, to change their mind at any point along the way.
Politics actually begin at home and move outward – locally, nationally and globally. That’s why political discussions begin at the beginning – you talk politics around your children until they ask to be included in the conversations and then you talk politics with your children. You talk about house rules; and you talk about laws. You talk about dictatorships (and the variations on that in your own home); and you talk about elections. You compare. You contrast. You talk about differences. You talk about respect.
You research the local candidates who aren’t all over the news and you ask them what they think. (How accurate is what we find online? Where and what are the truths? How important are the "little" local elections?) If you have the energy and enthusiasm to be politically involved and active on any level, you tell them what you can and treat them as your constituents – because they are. You vote with your children – you actually take (and sometimes, drag) them along. The mechanics of voting can be intimidating. Show them how NOT to be intimidated – or, better still, what to do if you (or they) are intimidated!
And you listen.
You listen better than politicians typically listen.
And you talk politics better than politicians talk politics. Because you are responsible for teaching the next generation about their rights to their opinions and their rights to voice those opinions and the rights of others to form their own conclusions. It’s about inclusion. It’s about learning to decipher truths in the quicksand of quick talk and soundbites and backstabbing and innuendo and all the doubletalk that tries to distract us from listening and prevents us from understanding.
And it’s about teaching our children how (and why) to have a fair debate. At the dinner table. In the car. With people we trust. Who will listen. And not speak over us. But consider and reconsider. Before presenting their viewpoint louder and longer and not necessarily any better. Interrupting isn’t right – even if you (think you) are right. Family time is where it starts.
Let’s face one undeniable, entirely un-political fact: we need more time together.
Where we talk. Where we listen. Without tech.
Because politics suck.
But we shouldn’t avoid these important conversations with the most important people in our lives: our children.
I’m sure that the politicians will have something to say about this. But you should say it first.