Today I attempt to process my thoughts on the "Mental Freedom" category of Gabe's and my fledgling parenting philosophy. When we went away for our planning weekend, we brainstormed a bunch of ideas that were important to us and then sorted them into four different categories: healthy religion, listening to your body, mental freedom, and emotional intelligence. These are the ideas that got sorted into the Mental Freedom list, but I think there's going to be some overlap. For example, I know "Independent play" will also show up in the Listen to Your Body category.
1) Your boundaries matter.
A lot of the Mental Freedom bullet points below have roots in the idea of boundaries. You might remember my whole boundaries journey and how groundbreaking that was for me. It's something I want to pass on to our kids.
I don't know what that will look like. Especially at first, I imagine kids will need adults to draw all the boundaries for them, to teach them what healthy boundaries look like as opposed to ones born out of paranoia or spite. But as soon as it makes sense, I want to start respecting my kids' boundaries. I want them to know that their voice matters. With practice, I hope their boundaries will grow to be wise and reasonable and held with neither bitterness nor guilt.
2) Imagination
I'm not sure if imagination is something that can be taught, but I definitely think it's something that can be squashed or stunted. Our goal is not to squash or stunt, and to encourage our children in exploring worlds, asking questions, and not being afraid to play pretend.
3) Reading
Gabe and I love to read, and believe so strongly in the power of stories. (You can actually hear me ranting about this subject on an Everyday Educator podcast episode here.) Even if our kids don't grow up to be avid readers, we want to foster a family culture of stories and talking about stories.
4) Independent play
Ah, independent play. My personal Achilles heel XD I don't know if it's because I'm cripplingly extroverted or what, but I would not consider myself good at independent play, and it's a skill we want to develop in our children. Not only should it help them grow in confidence, but it should also make life a little easier for us as parents if we don't have to entertain our kids all day.
When kids are older, "independent play" will probably look like letting them get bored enough to devise games on their own, but when they're infants and toddlers, independent play looks like butting out. Don't narrate what they're doing 24/7. Don't obsessively point out cause and effect as if they don't have eyes and a brain of their own. Don't tell or show them how to use a new toy—let them figure it out. When adults play with kids in a prescriptive way, it can stunt the child's creativity and confidence. Just let them figure it out. Let them use the toy "wrong." If they're playing with it, how is that "wrong"?
5) There are different types of intelligence.
This is one principle that Gabe has had to help me with, because if there's one thing I've always been sure of, it's that some people are stupid. However, Gabe flat out disagrees, and I think he's right. Gabe believes that everyone has some type of intelligence, and that every type is valuable and worthy of respect. He's done a little bit of research, and science backs this up. Howard Gardner identified seven types of intelligence: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal. I think society tends to glorify linguistic and logical, labeling everyone else as—at worst—stupid, or—at best—maybe "street smart."
We want to raise kids who know they are intelligent in some way, but—even more importantly—kids who know that everyone they interact with is also intelligent in some way. We want to raise kids who see the value of other people, encourage them in their strengths, and support them in their weaknesses. If we have a child who's gifted in a socially glorified type of intelligence, we don't want that to be a license to look down on anyone else. Likewise, if linguistic or logical intelligence isn't the way God has gifted our child, we don't want her to ever feel "less than" because of that—because she isn't.
6) Sharing is a choice.
Think about sharing with peers as an adult. If you're at a conference taking notes and someone takes your pen from you or says, "I want a turn," what would your reaction be?
Maybe, "I'm sorry, I'm using it right now" or "I'm sorry, but this is my pen. Do you have one of your own?" Imagine the conference leader coming over and saying, "No, you have to share. Give that person your pen."
Absurd. Adults aren't forced to share things that belong to them against their will. In fact, that can be kind of a dangerous precedent. You probably know someone (or ARE someone) who gives away too much of themselves or lets others use their things when it makes them sad or uncomfortable—maybe even their own bodies.
Sharing is important. It teaches patience, self-sacrifice, and how to engage in the give-and-take that makes the world go 'round. But if we force children to share in the wrong way, I think it sends a bad message.
If a child is actively playing with something that belongs to her, it's her turn—until she decides to stop. She is not morally obligated to interrupt what she's doing to make someone else happy. If it's a toy that belongs to a friend or the whole family, then the child doesn't "own" it, and when she's finished it's appropriate to let others use it too. But if it's a toy that's special to her, she may choose not to share it even when she isn't using it. We do this as adults all the time. Just because I'm not wearing my favorite ring that Nana gave me doesn't mean I have to let a friend borrow it.
And it goes both ways. If someone else is playing with a toy, your child might have to wait a long time for her turn, and if it's someone's special toy, she may never get to use it. Sharing is caring, sure. But having and respecting boundaries is caring too.
7) You can do hard things.
All of this is hard. But one mantra that we want to teach our kids from Day 1 is that they can do hard things.
When Gideon, my nephew, was about fourteen months old, I got to hang out with him one-on-one and I said something about him being strong. He looked at me and said, "What is that?" and I paused because it felt like an important moment of definition. I wanted him to know that there are different kinds of strong, that the word doesn't just mean physical prowess, but I knew I had to tell him something simple enough to be useful for his little toddler brain. After a second I said, "If you are 'strong,' that means you can do hard things," and that's a definition I've continued to feel good about.
~Stephanie
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