A bad idea in disguise
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This week, I had a revelation.
Nothing less.
I told myself I was going to stop trying to be a better mom, and to do that, I was going to stop watching YouTube at night—and to do that, I was going to leave my smartphone in the kitchen at night.
It all fits together.
You’ll see.
I had a long day—work, students, white T-shirts with huge tomato sauce stains, my kids, especially G., who has the unpleasant habit of… how should I put it… do I really have to write this down… Yes, that way I’ll be forced to face it: who has the unpleasant habit of spitting in people’s faces when he’s angry—preferably in his mom’s face when she asks him to brush his teeth or make his bed. I’ve tried everything: setting firm limits, scolding him, screaming like Medea, trying to understand, punishing him, rewarding him for not spitting… nothing. I googled it; I dusted off the parenting books I’d bought for my oldest… nothing.
So, maybe that American parenting expert and influencer I like to watch, let’s call her Abby, will have an idea of how to get me out of this mess?
Right on point, as soon as I open the red app a short pops up
“My kid spits—how to deal with it.” Exactly what I’m looking for—crazy, how does YouTube know? It’s like it’s spying on me. Anyway. “Stay firm: spitting when you’re angry will not be tolerated in this house. But take your child aside—don’t humiliate him in front of the family.” Okay. That sounds reasonable; I’ll give it a try.
And then Abby continues. Afterward, you need to show him that you understand this need of his. For example, you could say, “I was so upset with my coworker that I wanted to spit in his face!” And, even better, every time he feels like it, go into the bathroom with him and tell him you totally see why he wants to spit on his big sister because she’s singing “Frozen” again. Be specific: say, “Well, right now, I can feel the saliva rising in my throat, and I really, really want to let it out—let’s do it together.”
Huh?
Hmm?
What?
Photo by Lorena Samponi on Unsplash
No, really, am I supposed to have a spitting contest with my kid?!
And what, if my kids burp and fart at the diner table, don’t tell me, Abby, that I have to start doing it too?
Let’s stop this.
Stop going too far.
And stop watching YouTube.
Lightbulb moment, right now.
YouTube is, of course, full of people who post high-quality content created in good faith—like parenting pros who want to share their knowledge—but these same highly competent people also make a living by giving advice with an air of confidence and wisdom. Well, yeah, because “Your child spits in your face? Honestly, I don’t know—just wait for it to pass—it’ll be worse next year. You know, parenting—that grueling marathon—is mainly frustration, failures, and endless days,” zero subscribers, basically.
With the pace dictated by YouTube, even the best people end up churning out defective products from their advice factory.
Héloïse, you like Abby.
But above all, whatever you do, do not follow her.
Because, is it really a good idea, when you’re a vulnerable mom, to throw yourself to the wolves of professional advice-givers? Is it really a good idea to have the option, every time I feel overwhelmed, to have hours of fake good ideas, right there, effortlessly accessible, just a click away? To spend my nights watching mothers who seem to manage better, speak better, handle everything better?
Lightbulb moment, second floor.
When my children are in bed, that’s when I want to make peace with myself and others, so I can muster the courage to start tomorrow off on the right foot. So if I’m chasing after easy solutions and experts’ ideas, what room will I have left to find the answers within myself? My own answers, however imperfect they may be? After all, I’m already familiar with those evenings spent staring into space, feeling like I’ve failed at everything because of something my boys did—and while it’s not exactly pleasant, it’s at least useful. In my experience, I’d say it’s always helped me—either to realize there was a problem I needed to solve, or to realize that the thing I felt I absolutely had to solve wasn’t really a problem and would go away on its own, or was simply due to all of us being exhausted.
Lightbulb moment, on every floor:
I will be weak enough to listen to the siren song of these bad ideas disguised as good ones. After all, the algorithm knows that being a good mother—a better mother—is a weakness that draws me toward it. The only thing I can do is protect myself from these experts, barring them from my living room and from my life once the dinner-bath-bed routine is over.
So my phone will stay in the kitchen once my kids are in bed.
That’s exactly it: in the evening, after a lousy night, above all, above all, I won’t try to feel better.
I’ll just stay there, far from the red app, wallowing in the blues, brooding on my couch, letting out big sighs, telling myself it’ll eventually pass, letting the wound heal.
Putting my mind to work
Minding.
And mending.
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Translation of the text by Deepl.com and her author