Witnessing our kids’ suffering

Witnessing the suffering of others—and how we react when it happens—is a skill.

Unfortunately, it’s a skill that’s underrated—and perhaps not even named—for how important it is, especially for us as parents.

I’ll give this skill we need a name: witnessing.

Let’s imagine a simple example: our child is upset because their favorite flavor of potato chips is out of stock at the grocery store.

An obviously damaging response would be:

“Screw you, stop complaining. You have no idea how small this is or how good you have it. Shut up, go sit alone in the corner, and feel stupid until you figure it out.”

A seemingly more considerate—but equally damaging—response would be:

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. Let me do whatever I can to help you deal with this. Should I drive 15 minutes right now to find that flavor for you?”

The first response makes them feel valueless.

The second infantilizes them, giving them evidence to believe they’re incapable of enduring anything hard.

The problem is, both of these approaches absolve us—as parents—of the horrific feeling we get when our kids suffer.

The first allows us to disconnect from the feeling.

The second allows us to solve the problem and make it go away.

Both prevent growth. Both delay the issue of suffering and compound it.

Because instead of helping them deal with suffering now, we displace it—until we’re gone.

The urge we have, as parents, is to end suffering as quickly as possible.

But we can’t. We have to let it run its course.

Of course, like with any other human being, if someone is in mortal danger, we must intervene.

But as parents, we do this too quickly. Or at least I do.

I end the suffering—not because my kids can’t deal with it, but because I can’t.

So what do we do instead?

If we don’t tell them to suck it up, and we don’t cater to their every need, what do we do?

I think the answer is hard, but not complicated.

Just show up and listen. That’s the balm.

Be next to them. Listen.

Offer comfort, ideas, and—if they’re open to it—stories about our own mistakes. I think all wr need to do is be there and stew in that suffering with them.

Unfortunately, this prolongs our discomfort and stifles our sense of control as parents.

But it’s the better, third way: to let them live their lives—a little more with each passing day.

Letting go, without disappearing.

That’s the delicate ballet we dance as parents: to witness their suffering without taking it on as our own.

When we witness—not control, and not ignore—our kids’ suffering, we find a delicate place we can occupy.

That’s both the place where our kids learn. And where we grow our character and mettle as parents.

The cost is our sadness, and sometimes our sanity.

But if witnessing—not ignoring and not controlling—allows our kids to grow in courage, and forces us to strengthen and purify our own souls, that is a price worth paying.