Abby is my youngest daughter, she’s my mini-me, my firecracker, the boss of the family. She has big emotions, big ideas, and definitely knows what everyone around her should be doing. The picture above is Abby’s chosen hiding spot this weekend. At first glance, it seems odd or even humorous that she would be in my bed, under a coverlet, hiding from her own anger, but if one knows the backstory and observes the un-obvious, it makes perfect sense.
She was in trouble for throwing a tantrum, something we are used to in this house. She had set up a fort for herself and was very upset when I told her that she couldn’t have a cup of juice in her fort, because sticky spills are not fun for anyone. She proceeded to throw an Oscar-worthy tantrum over the loss of her juice, and by proxy, her very reason for living.
For years, I’ve longed to understand where that anger is born from. Perhaps it’s the same place my own anger is born from. But I also find myself longing to understand Abby herself more than I want to understand the small part of her that is her anger. She is so much bigger than one emotion. In the midst of the turmoil, she shouted, “Don’t look at me!” as she ran into my room. I conceded because I recognized the need to not want to be seen… and I also recognized what caused that need — shame.
While shame is a great teacher, it is also a harsh and abusive master. It causes us to be so afraid that we cannot even bear the sight of another human, both seeing and being seen. We know shame’s searing ache and we run and we hide for fear we may be destroyed.
Earlier this week, Abby had a stomach bug on top of already having pink eye. She spent the night in the same place she was in this picture, under the coral coverlet in her Mommy’s bed. After several episodes of being sick and a few baths to help the discomfort, we collapsed into my bed with a towel and a bowl. I looked at her and said, “Okay sweetie, let’s try to get as much sleep as we can. I know you feel yucky and I’m so sorry. I promise it will be over soon.” She curled up with her favorite blanket, my coral coverlet, and finally fell into a fitful sleep. The next morning, she awoke, smiled at me and said, “Mommy! I feel asleep!” We were both relieved she managed to find some relief.
For my 5 year old firecracker, this chosen spot is a place of safety and comfort, a cocoon of relief. In that spot, she found words of comfort, soft blankets, clean sheets, and rest. It seems only natural that when faced with deep emotional pain, she would run to her hiding place, the place she knew comfort and relief existed, free of judgement.
As I watched her huddle under the covers, I realized we are all like 5 year olds when faced with shame. I personally define shame as the intense need to turn against our own self in order to make someone else happy. It is the very definition of abandonment and the very definition of fitting in. While I know I cannot protect my children from everything in the world, I hope that my arms, my blankets, and my words will always hold the solace and relief they need when the pain gets to be too much. For me, I hope that it’s a reminder to turn inward when I feel that same pain, rather to an outward distraction.
I hope each of you has a place of solace, a cocoon of relief that you can retreat to when the pain is too much. I’d be delighted if you shared your favorite spot in the comments. Love to you all ❤️