Parenting as a Cliff Hanger

Sunset Cliffs, Ocean Beach, CA

Cliffs can be scary. We are vulnerable at the edge. All senses are heightened. We can hear our crying echo. We can feel the weightlessness below. And the drop may seem endless—with no branches, grass, or parachutes to catch our seemingly inevitable fall. 

I need to talk my son off his metaphorical cliff—a newly developed fear of school. 

TT has been going to some kind of school since he was an infant. He’s now a month shy of 6-years old. That's a lot of practice with what teachers call “drop off”—the separation of child from parent at the school door. A child’s ability to seamlessly enter the doors, without drama, is a marker of their independence and developmental achievement.

All of a sudden my son does not want to walk through the heralded gate. In fact, he’s willing to throw tantrums, like the show today (Sorry Miss Aaron!). He’s even willing to risk his physical health to say home. 

Stomachache. Nausea. Headache. His anxiety manifests into these physical symptoms, which he then uses to convince us (parents and teachers and school nurse alike) that he must stay home from school and or be excused from school, immediately.

Apparently, the medical community has even named this phenomenon—“school refusal,” whereby a child develops physical symptoms that prevent him or her from attending school. He may be anxious about schoolwork or bullies or teachers or even using the class bathroom. She may be worried she isn’t smart enough. He may simply not want to be separated from his primary caregiver. Children ages 5-6 are apparently especially vulnerable to school refusal due to marked transitions including the beginning of kindergarten or first grade.

Our happy boy at the Smithsonian
Air & Space Museum in Northern VA

Dad and I have exhausted our review of the myriad of causes. There have been no deaths, no divorce, no new home or school. The teachers say he is well liked by his peers. He is academically on par. And when we ask him why he doesn't want to go to school, he replies, "I just want to be with you Mommy." 


He's breaking my heart. 


Alas, we are trying to be good parents by following the teachers’ and literature instructions. TT IS still going to school. We DO talk with him about his anxieties. We DO encourage his learning. We listen to what big sister says to him and attempt to stop belittling commentary. (Yes, the 3^rd graders in her class taunt the 1^st graders, and guess what? The 1^st graders then taunt the Kindergarteners. A vicious cycle to blog about in another post.) And we reinforce that Mom and Dad and Magda love him very much.


And on the bad days, I snap back at his little boy soul. "Do you think Mommy wants to go to work?" Or, "We ALL have to do things we don't like TT." Or, "TT, I can't handle another word about this subject." Then I hear my own words echo, I shutter, and I wish I could erase these nasty notes from his life's chalkboard. After all, I can still hear my parents making insidious snippets about work as a necessary evil from my childhood!

So when I think back to the metaphor I left school with today--drop off as a threatening cliff-- I'm reminded that we all--children and adults alike--experience fear. He's scared, and I'm scared. A child that doesn't LOVE school--I'm not sure how to process this one given my affinity for all things educational. I'm even more scared that I won't be able to assuage his fears quickly so the foundation of a love for lifelong learning is not squashed by this setback. 


For now, I'll work on reframing the cliff from scary to breathtakingly beautiful. I can't help but note that parenting itself is a cliffhanger. We can't anticipate where the story line will go next...