I let her ride on my back

Faded photographs of sore knees and hurt feelings come back in vivid colour when my daughter feels them too. How to support your sensitive child (and your sensitive self) through playground dramas.

I don’t know what happened to Sandra but I do know that she left me with a very formative memory of what it's like to quite literally take too much on my shoulders.

It was several summers after the scorcher of 1976. The grassy banks that sloped steeply away from the playing field at my school were crunchy and tinder dry. Tracks had worn through the repeated trampling of feet. Some bold kids still rolled down the hill on their sides like mad sausages on a barbeque. It wasn’t soft and inviting. There was no pillowy landing, and instead you risked crashing onto the concrete playground below.

I wasn’t one of the bold kids. I was physically timid, cautious, and shy. Much more inclined to watch their antics from the sidelines. Half thrilled, half petrified that I might have to join in.

So my mum knew something had happened the day I came home from school with scraped and bloodied knees. Bits of dirt were still under the skin. My socks were grubby and grass stained. The stitching on my skirt had torn a little. My wrists were scratched and sore. I didn’t really want to say anything, to be a tell tale, but this time there was too much to cover up.

Mum asked me what had happened.

“Sandra wanted to ride on my back.”

And, little by little, mum eased it out of me. All while cleaning up my sore knees and gently washing away the dirt. 

You see, Sandra wanted to roll down the hill, but she wanted transport up to the top first. She chose me to be the pack horse. A piggy back wouldn’t do. It had to be down on my knees in the parched mud.

Mum was incredulous “Oh, Ali, you let her do that?”

Yes, indeed I did. And I have let countless Sandras ride on my back since. Although over 40 years later, I do at least know what I’m doing now and why. I sometimes even tell those Sandras where to get off.

Sandra would these days be what my daughter calls a frenemy.

noun: fren·​e·​my ˈfre-nə-mē plural frenemies

a person who is or pretends to be a friend but who is also in some ways an enemy or rival

She had been working on me for weeks, if not months. Sometimes showing me a flash of genuine feeling - sticking up for me - complimenting my new stack heel shoes (this was the 1970s) - giving me one of her new pencils.

And then at other times casting me a sharp glance - commenting on my deeply unfashionable quilted anorak - knocking my marble out of the way on the marble run - cosying up to my friend Nicole.

It was confusing. I was as gullible then as I still am now. Open, receptive, thinking the best, desperate to be friends with a cool kid, not wanting be left out. 

Sandra wanted to see how far she could go with this.

When you are a sensitive soul the problem is that you can almost see this stuff happening in slow motion, and yet you get sucked in. You go back to the same sites of your wounding, thinking it will be different this time. You get hurt over and over again.

And when you are a sensitive parent, the stakes are even higher, because it’s not just you being hurt in the playground anymore. It’s your child going through the self same struggles.

Fast forward to 2024 and it’s much less about scraped knees for my 11 year old daughter. It’s more about a snarky message in an online group chat. But I still feel a surge of recognition when she bottles up all her upsets and lets them out. Spilling tears and secrets into my lap on the short drive home from school. Even waiting until we are out of sight until she shares anything.

“They can’t hear you,” I say

“Just drive” she replies, wanting to get away from any possibility that vulnerability might be seen and seized upon somehow. 

To be clear, this is not bullying we are talking about. It’s not in the same league as the Sandra situation. But it is subtle and insidious and potentially just as damaging for a sensitive soul.

When your child feels deeply, things linger. They carry those tiny comments, glances, and scrapes around with them in a little drawstring bag marked 'hurts'. And you, as ill equipped as you feel, have to hold the little bag and open it tenderly.

My heart breaks for my daughter in these moments. I want to scoop her up and wrap a huge protective cloak around us both. It plunges me straight back into the playground circa 1979.

My mum was as loving and supportive as she could be, but she didn't really understand the depth or nuance of my reactions. She was of the 'you need to toughen up' school of parenting. I didn’t have a model for being with my hurt and my child’s hurt at the same time. I’ve had to figure this out on my own.

Tether & Tend PRACTICE

Like anything I share here, please take what lands, and reject what doesn’t. I am not the expert in you or your child. I am just fumbling forward with this stuff as I go.

You may well be wondering how to best support your child and avoid getting sucked in or triggered by those playground dramas. Here are some thoughts about how to Tether & Tend in a similar situation:

1) Be in the here and now

As difficult as it is to detach your 7 year old self from your 37 year old self (or whatever age or stage you currently relate to), be in the here and now with your child and their hurts.

Tether yourself with FOFBOC - Feet on Floor, Bottom on Chair. This is what I use to help people feel grounded at the start of a guided meditation, but it’s useful for life. Feel the points of contact your body is making with the surfaces beneath you. Pause. Breathe. Give your child your full attention.

If full attention simply isn’t possible because you are wrangling with the baby’s dirty nappy, or driving to play group, or trying to keep from the edge of your own tears and exhaustion, do what you can to listen, but make a little note. A voice memo or written down. Come back to it later. Repair is always possible. Calm presence isn’t always possible.

2) Redirect the urge to rescue

The hardest thing to do when your child is suffering is to let them.

I have strong mama bear urges to stomp in and save my daughter from all possible hurt. I know this won’t help, not least because she has reached the age where it would not be cool.

Those urges emerge from a natural desire to protect my offspring. But those urges also emerge from a part of me that is not helpful. A part that wants to save her from the embarrassment and shame I felt about being a deeply feeling child myself.

I have to work hard to redirect my urge to rescue into what would be helpful for her. This sounds like:

* validating her feelings - “ugh, it sounds frustrating when so-and-so says that to you…”

* being a co-regulating presence - “would you like a hug…?”

* sharing my vulnerabilities - “I still get upset when someone says mean things…”

* helping her figure out what to do (if anything) - “how do you wish the play date might have been different…?”

3) Tend to the hurt part in yourself

I’m reminded of the quote that I saw shared as a meme a while back:

“Listen earnestly to anything your children want to tell you, no matter what. If you don’t listen eagerly to the little stuff when they are little, they won’t tell you the big stuff when they are big, because to them all of it has always been big stuff.”― Catherine M. Wallace

The little stuff is always big stuff, and the same holds for you too. This practice of being with your child’s big feelings will only get easier if you find time to listen and honour the little things in your own experience.

Think back to an example of when your feelings were trampled on, or you took too much on yourself.

Now offer yourself a tiny bit of the compassion I expect you readily give to others. Look at the list of ideas I shared above, and apply to yourself:

* validate your feelings

* find a co-regulating presence (if there is no safe friend, a pet, a plant, or even a warm soft blanket can bring comfort)

* share your vulnerabilities (with a safe friend, a therapist, or by coming along to the gatherings I want to begin hosting here)

If this feels impossible, don’t fret, we have time. This is a practice. It’s something I will keep sharing little by little.

Introducing the Seed Bed

When my partner said that ‘Tether & Tend’ sounded like a newsletter about gardening, he inadvertently (no pun intended) sowed the seed of an idea for how I want this space to grow and evolve.

I want everyone reading to feel nurtured here, which is why I’ve chosen to put complete posts above any paywall, rather than chopping them off part way through.

But I know some folk will want to dig down beyond the surface.

I am beginning to lay down some additional tools and resources that I want to share as part of space for deeper nourishment.

It’s a membership space for paid subscribers called the Seed Bed.

If you’d like to plant yourself right there from the start, I’d be so honoured and encouraged. Or come when the season shifts and it feels like time to blossom.

What’s sprouting in the Seed Bed?

I’m building up a rich loam (I love an analogy - let me know when I’ve gone too far!) of practical things that help me as a deeply feeling person and parent.

First up, I will be sharing a series called Growing Mindful. Think of this like a correspondence course or private podcast with really short doses of helpful theory and practice.

My aim is to help you take small steps to cultivate that calm and grounded presence that feels so elusive when you are in the survival season of parenting.

Next, when enough seedling souls have gathered, I will start to host live workshops and circles.

Your help

In the very real sense of evolution and co-creation, I’d love to know what landed most with you from this post.

And let me know what you’d like to see in the Seed Bed. Because it’s time for me to start planting.

With much love

Ali xx

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit tetherandtend.substack.com