I’ve reached a point in my life where I can accept being wrong. While it’s not pleasant, it signals that there’s room for growth and learning. I know that confronting uncomfortable truths is necessary, even if being right feels easier. My 8-year-old son, however, lacks this awareness. I wouldn’t expect him to have it; he’s a small, stubborn bundle of defensiveness whenever he knows he’s made a mistake. Nevertheless, I still encourage him to develop the courage to acknowledge his errors.
Children like my son, who are perfectionists or strict rule-followers, struggle to accept what they see as failures. I can relate to that feeling, as I see his self-worth tied to his ability to do things correctly. He thrives on praise but becomes paralyzed by the fear of disappointing others. Whether it’s grappling with schoolwork or navigating friendships, when he realizes he’s upset someone, his first instinct is to blame himself. He doubts his intelligence and worries that he’s unloved.
I quickly intervene to remind him that these thoughts aren’t true. I refuse to let him play the victim, which naturally leads to defensiveness and a need to prove he’s right, even when he isn’t.
Recently, while playing with a friend, my son took the opportunity to leave and play with another neighbor without informing his first friend. Upon realizing he wasn’t coming back, I approached him. He was furious to see me and was not ready to hear what I had to say.
I asked if he had checked on his first friend before leaving. He hadn’t, thinking it was no big deal. I explained the importance of ensuring his friend was okay and including both friends in his activities.
That’s when his anger escalated. He burst into tears, insisting that he wanted to play with his new friend alone and that the other friend would be fine. When I suggested he check in with her, he accused me of being unfair for not letting him have his way. At that point, I presented him with options: he could return to his original friend, invite her to join them, or go to his room for being rude.
He stormed off, insisting that I never let him do what he wanted and refusing to acknowledge how he might have hurt his friend by leaving without a word. I anticipated this reaction. I didn’t want to let him avoid the necessary confrontation, but he clearly wasn’t ready to engage. I offered my apologies to the friend he had abandoned, inviting her to join the other kids playing in our yard. She was delighted with the idea and accepted.
I began to second-guess myself. Had I overreacted? Had I inadvertently made the situation worse by stepping in? But then I recalled a time when he had come home upset because a friend had ditched him. He knew all too well how it felt to be left behind, and I hoped to help him connect those feelings.
When I entered his room, he immediately launched into a tirade about how wrong I was. I attempted to explain how his actions might have affected his friend, but he only cried harder, insisting he hadn’t meant any harm; he simply wanted to play with the other child. I reiterated that checking in first was the respectful thing to do and that he could still play with both friends.
“I’m only 8! How was I supposed to know?” he wailed. “Everyone hates me!”
I reassured him that no one hated him, emphasizing my role in helping him learn to communicate effectively and be a good friend. “I don’t want to learn!” he protested.
I explained that I would guide him through these tough emotional moments. “But I’m scared, Mama!” he admitted.
And there it was—fear of feelings. Emotions can be overwhelming, but I’ve learned that running from difficult situations isn’t the answer. While he will encounter many similar challenges alone, this was my chance to push him beyond his comfort zone. I refuse to raise a child who lacks the courage to admit when they’ve erred. While it’s a lofty goal, I recognized this as a vital teaching moment.
“It’s okay to be scared. You can feel however you need to, but it’s also important to consider how others feel. So let’s go check on your friends,” I encouraged.
I could see that he wanted to do the right thing. As a rule-follower, he was struggling with the reality that admitting a mistake doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. It’s simply a part of learning and growing. Holding his hand, we made our way outside.
Sitting on the couch, he expressed that he couldn’t breathe. I reassured him that it was just nerves, and I would do the talking, but he needed to come out with me to address the situation. He agreed.
When we reached his friends, I asked if they were okay and if they wanted to join in. I could sense my son tensing up, anxious for everything to resolve perfectly with minimal effort. Kids don’t always grasp the emotional labor involved, but they can feel the weight of it.
After confirming that everyone was okay and happy to play, my son visibly relaxed. Before he rejoined them, I hugged him tightly, expressing how proud I was of his bravery. I acknowledged that communication can be daunting, but together we navigated through it. This lesson would repeat throughout his life, and I aimed to equip him with the tools to handle it.
If you want to be adept at something, practice is essential. I was teaching my son the value of vulnerability and that it’s okay to admit mistakes. For more insights on navigating parenting challenges, check out this resource on pregnancy and home insemination. You might also find helpful information on fertility supplements and their role in your journey. To understand more about procedures like hysteroscopy, visit this site.
Summary
In this reflective piece, a parent navigates the challenges of raising an emotionally intelligent child. After a conflict involving friendships, the parent encourages their child to confront feelings, accept mistakes, and communicate effectively. Through this experience, the parent emphasizes the importance of vulnerability and the ongoing journey of learning and growth.