A couple of years ago, Jennifer, my husband and I took our kids to a ropes course called Adirondack Extreme. It is described as an “Aerial Tree Top Adventure” which includes a complex ropes course suspended between trees at 10 to 60 feet off the ground. It promised to be a fun physical courage challenge. Little did I know that it would be more of an emotional and social courage challenge for me. The labyrinth of ropes wouldn’t prove to be my biggest adversary, but untangling myself from my own perfectionism would be.

Jennifer did not climb due to an old injury, but she supervised our daughters on the kids’ course. My husband, our son, and I challenged the adult course. We attended a brief instruction on how to put on our harness, how to securely hook and unhook ourselves along the course, and how to ask for help—if push came to shove and we decided we were done at some point along the increasingly challenging course. I paid pretty close attention to the introductory talk, but only half-listened to the “asking for help” part. As I’ve written about previously in my post “Quitters, Campers, and Climbers,” I’m not much of a quitter. I’m a climber who, I’m embarrassed to admit, even sometimes secretly feels superior to quitters.

By the time I reached mid-course, my then 12-year old son was lapping me. He seemed recklessly, blissfully unaware of all the risks that I was quickly becoming aware of as I looked down from the tree tops to the ground twenty, then fifty, feet below. He just kept saying “Mom, this is SO much fun. It’s easy!”

I can assure you this course was NOT easy! And I was so over the idea of this being fun. The more joyless and humorless I became, the more rigid my body became.  My joyful son, on the other hand, had the agility of a monkey; while I swung precariously, holding on for dear life with increasingly sweaty palms, between the various rope mazes. He was fearless, while I was quickly becoming fearful.

One of the big differences between kids and adults in terms of risk assessment is the cognitive tricks that our minds begin to play with us as we develop. According to child psychologist Dr. Tamar Chansky (2004), in her book Freeing Your Child from Anxiety: Powerful, Practical solutions to Overcome Your Child’s Fears, Worries, and Phobias, we feel anxious when we begin to confuse the possibility of occurrence with the probability of it actually occurring. Dr. Chansky writes that the “Anxious Response= Overestimation of Threat + Underestimation of Ability to Cope.” So, while I was focusing on whether or not the ropes were strong enough to hold me, the possibility of falling, how painful it would be to hang upside down for an extended period of time waiting for help, whether or not my children (who I no longer had in sight) were okay or not, and how embarrassing it would be to quit; my son was enjoying each new obstacle on the course while feeling totally secure in his crotch harness and physical ability.

At the second to last level, all alone now on the course, I was officially scared. But quit? OMG, no way! Quitting = Failure, to the perfectionist mind.  Which is, as Jennifer wrote in her last post Failure is Always an Option, “tantamount to total annihilation.” At the very least, annihilation of the ego. Success for me, at times, can be deeply intertwined with trying to prove that I’m lovable and valuable. In short, I wasn’t a kid who learned that her success in life is based on who she is, not on how she looks or what or how well she does. A perfectionist places more value on how she appears to the world than on who she is on the inside.  This misplacement of her inherent value creates a fragile ego swinging precariously from one success to the next, desperately trying to avoid the identity-crisis pitfalls that mistakes, and especially failure, threaten.  It’s also what makes perfectionists highly competitive and probably not all that relaxing to be around sometimes. Needless to say, this aspect of my personality is not particularly healthy–nor is feeling secretly superior to quitters, for that matter! These are not personality characteristics I wish to pass along to my children. Instead, I parent my kids in ways that focus on their inherent value.  I focus less on how they look and what grades they get, but more on the core qualities they are developing as kind, loving human beings.  I encourage them to listen to their limits and feelings, to focus on their successes, to identify goals that are truly important to them (not society at large), to do their best because there is no such thing as perfect, and to be gentle with themselves when they make mistakes.  I’ve coached them to develop an internal locus of control (you can read my parenting tips here: Are You an Inny or an Outy?) And I’m known for saying “I love who you are, and who you are becoming.”  Let’s be honest, embracing this kind of unconditional acceptance of both ourselves and our children is kind of radical—especially today in our culture of overachievement! Dr. Brene Brown’s book The Gifts of Imperfection is a great resource for anyone interested in understanding and letting go perfectionism!

One of the many gifts of being a parent, in my opinion, is that we get the chance to teach (and learn from) our kids what we, too, need to learn in life.  In essence, parenting has given me the opportunity to release myself from perfectionism’s uncomfortable grip and develop the kind of self-acceptance and love that my kids seem to instinctively possess.  And now I was about to model that it’s sometimes okay to quit!

When I reached the next tree post, I found myself hugging and not wanting to let go of that tree with the kind of intense love usually reserved for extreme environmentalists. I was done! It was suddenly much more important to me to listen to my body’s limits and find my kids on the course than to prove to myself and others that I could finish. Suddenly, quitting was not only an option, but it was okay. I couldn’t remember the code word the guide had told me to yell if I needed to be rescued, but in any situation screaming “HELP!” usually works.  I started with a timid “Helloooooo. Guide?!” which quickly progressed to screaming above the treetops “HELP! I need to get down now.” 

In a matter of minutes, a very kind and capable young man arrived on the scene to lower me from the towering heights of my new BFF. I told him I was okay and felt surprisingly calm.  I wanted to reassure him that I wasn’t going to cling to him like a crazy lady when he finally reached me.  He, in turn, reassured me that this kind of thing happens every day.  That made me feel a lot better!  I found myself laughing, recalling my high-pitched screams for help above the tree tops, and relaxing as he lowered us to the ground. I was amazed not to be embarrassed. The earth did not open up to swallow me whole when my feet reached terra firma. Throngs of people weren’t waiting on the ground to laugh, jeer, and otherwise poke fun at my failure. These are the kinds of thoughts that keep perfectionism well-fed, by the way, and keep us from trying things that might mean risking failure in some way, shape, or form. In fact, I felt kind of proud of myself. I had actually asked for help and received it! Trust me when I say, it took more emotional courage for me to quit, ask for help and trust that it would arrive, and social courage to risk embarrassment amongst my peers and family, than the physical courage to force myself to finish the course.

I could have focused on my failure and spiraled down into an abyss of low self-esteem, but I made my failure okay by focusing instead on what I was able to accomplish. I made it okay to quit by untangling who I am as a person from my perfectionist expectations.  I discovered that the belief that you are already “good enough,” no matter what you are able to accomplish, is perfectionism’s personal kryptonite. Adopting a new respect for quitting has also freed me up to be willing to climb again! 

By honoring the type of courage I actually needed to develop, I was able to reframe my perceived physical courage “failure” as an emotional courage accomplishment. We can do this for our kids, too, by helping them to recognize the gains they make everyday, by breaking apart difficult tasks into smaller more manageable and achievable ones, and by celebrating their successes. We can help them identify which of the six types of courage they are developing, and are capable of, in everything they do!

As I was writing this post, I asked my daughter to define failure.  Her answer: “There is no such thing as failure Mom. Whatever you are able to do is okay.”  When I also asked if she’d like to try the adult course with me again this summer, now that she’s almost 12, she said: “Probably not.  I’m not a big fan of heights.”

You can read more about coaching kids to face challenges in my previous post: Discourage/Encourage: What’s a Parent to Do?

A few weeks ago I wrote about trickster tales, and the importance of reclaiming intellectual courage from the stigma of trickery. The tradition of the trickster is world wide, and many of the stories are very fun.

Some of them, not so much.  Fenrir the Wolf is like that.

The trickster figure may have been a way of explaining why a beautiful and bountiful world contains so many dangers and sorrows. Among the Norse people of Scandinavia, Loki was blamed for some very grim events, including the Death of Baldur (which I will retell in an upcoming post). On top of that, Loki also fathered three monstrous children with the giantess, Angrboda: a horrible serpent, the grim daughter Hel (consigned to underworld, and giving us the word Hell), and the dread wolf, Fenrir. Prophecy told the gods that Fenrir would swallow the sun at world’s end, destroy all creation and kill Odin. Bad wolf. Very bad wolf.

Because of this prophecy, the gods decided they would have to restrain Fenrir, but it was no easy task. He had the cunning of his father, and the strength and size of his mother. The gods played to his vanity, daring him to break an iron chain. He did it. Increasingly nervous, the gods tried a stronger chain, which Fenrir also broke. At last, they resorted to asking for help from the magical people underground, the dwarves, who fashioned a silken ribbon with enchantments to keep it from snapping. The gods offered Fenrir the chance to prove his strength once again by allowing them to tie him in this ribbon. Sensing a trick, Fenrir said he would allow himself to be tied, on the condition that one of them put his hand into his mouth.

Only Tyr, god of justice and right action, stepped forward to offer his arm as hostage. The wolf was tied with the spellbound rope, which tightened more each time he struggled. And each time he struggled, he bit down harder on Tyr’s hand, until at least he bit it off. The wolf was securely bound and imprisoned for all time.

My daughter and her classmates heard this story last year in school, and I told it to K. and two of her friends again a few days ago. “Was Tyr brave?” I asked. One of the girls said, “But he had to do it, it was his turn to do something difficult, so he had no choice.”

“Does that mean a soldier who is ordered to do something dangerous is not brave?” I asked.

“He could have said no,” K. said. “He did have a choice. Tyr was brave.”

Tyr was brave because he did the right thing, the girls concluded. He volunteered for something that had to be done for the safety of the whole world, even though it was really dangerous for himself. Moral action often comes at the expense of physical safety, or even life. It seems that the kind of moral courage we have seen in civil rights and justice struggles around the world frequently requires physical courage as a partner. To do the right thing, the moral thing, even if it puts us in physical danger, inspires awe and admiration. We always have a choice, even if all our options are against our nature or if the choice is made with little conscious deliberation. This is why acts of moral courage or right action inspire us, because we are seeing people choose a righteous path in spite of the danger. When we witness peaceful protesters being beaten or attacked but not fighting back, we see the courage of a god.  This is why we also share true stories from history with children – so they can see that the six types of courage also dwell in the real world, and are not only the stuff of legend.

Copyright Brian Dunne, Dreamstime.com

It turns out that raising courageous kids has a lot to do with knowing when to push them to face a challenge that may evoke fear, and when to pull back (ease off on the pressure, regroup, and become better prepared) so they can learn to pace themselves as they develop the confidence to face life all on their own.  Or as Kenny Rogers is famous for singing, and in our house the all-time favorite song from my husband’s bedtime repertoire:  “You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em.  Know when to walk away and know when to run.”

THE PUSH-PULL FACTOR

Signs it’s time to PUSH:

*Your child asks for your help. Kids often have remarkable clarity about what they need.  We just need to be good listeners.  Sometimes, however, they don’t and/or there is a question behind their question.  For example,  “I need your help,” may in fact be “I don’t know what is expected? I need more information.” or “I don’t believe I can do it,” or “I don’t want to do this all by myself.” You might then ask, “Is there a question behind your question, like something more you need to know before doing this?”  Or, your could ask “How can I be most helpful?”  Help your child to tell you at least one way that you might be able to help push them towards success.  If they are stuck, then ask if you can offer some suggestions.  Sometimes asking for help is about a need for parent-child connection, compassion, and/or the vulnerability inherent with developing the courage to try new things. 

 *Decide if it’s important to you both. Maybe you’d like your daughter to rock climb, but it isn’t her   

  thing.  But, you believe learning an instrument is important for overall emotional and cognitive 
  development—even when the practices get dull and require big-time stick-to-itiveness and the occasional
  push to practice.  Differentiate between a dare and the genuine learning experience that courage
  challenges can provide. 

*Do they have all the necessary skills and capabilities? We can’t expect our kids to jump off the 
  diving board the first time they put on a swimsuit.  Your role as a parent is to be your child’s

  first teacher.  Take the time to teach your child, step-by-step, the necessary skills associated with the   
  task at hand.  You want your child to take responsibility with household chores, for example, walk them
  through how you expect them to do each chore, teach them to fold laundry or load the dishwasher, 
  before asking them to do it on their own.

*Practice makes perfect.  Rehearse and role-play with your child what it is you wish them to learn. The
  more mental practice—the more assured success.  Just ask any professional athlete trained in
  psychological skills training (PST):  a winner visualizes the race and the win before it happens (Weinberg
  & Gould, 1999).  

*Make sure the safety net is in place.  Soon, you won’t be around to catch every fall.  In fact, even if you are right there you may miss.  The research is clear, kids raised in bubble wrap aren’t equipped to handle life’s bumps and bruises.  But, you can ensure that your child knows how to ask for help and that he/she believes in his/her inherent worth—regardless of success or failure.  Self-confidence is the strongest net of all. 

*You’ve dipped your toes in the water a few times and now it’s time to dive.  The longer you wait; the more apprehension is bound to build.  Strike while the iron is hot.  Teach you child to pay close attention to their thinking and the signs in their body that signal readiness: “I can do this” thoughts, a fluttery heart combined with a conviction of purpose, a narrowing of the gaze on the goal in their mind’s eye, a feeling of excitement—even if it means reframing fear. (Based on the fact that excitement and anxiety trigger similar centers and neurotransmitter release in the brain and nervous system).

To summarize, let’s use the acronym: P.U.S.H.

P is for prepare for battle (make sure your child has the tools for success)

U is for understand the goal (make sure your child agrees the goal is important)

S is for safety net (make sure you have a back-up plan or a way to save face)

H is for hope (make sure your child is inspired and confident in his/her thinking)

Okay…Get Ready, Get Set, PUSH!

Signs it’s time to PULL back:

*Your kid asks you to back off.  It can’t be said enough: kids have a lot of clarity.  When we honor their boundaries and limit-setting, whilst empowering them to listen to themselves, we lend support to their natural impulse towards learning, curiosity, and openness to experience.

*Fear can’t be reframed as excitement.  Fear is a life-saving signal to play close attention when danger is present—whether real or imagined.  Flush out the monsters under the bed; listen to what they have to say about what’s really going on in your child’s head. If your child’s willingness to try new things suddenly or has never been very strong, you might even need help from a mental health professional in cases of clinically significant anxiety. 

*Figure out whose goal it is?  Do you feel incredible regret because you quit piano in grade school and now can’t play an instrument?  Are you channelling your unmet desires in life into a pint-size version of yourself?  What’s in it for your child?  If you keep meeting with resistance and both of you can’t answer this question, honestly, it might be time to find a different goal or courage challenge. 

*One or both of you believes the thought “I can’t do this.”  It’s time to deconstruct a few of those self-defeating thoughts first.  Instead of trying to fight your child’s fear or lack of self-confidence, take a different tact.  What we notice, we get more of.  Therefore, if we notice that they lack self-confidence and continue to focus on that lack, we will get more of it.  Try asking, “Do you need more information about what I’m asking you to do?  How can I help you break apart this task into smaller pieces, so it can feel more manageable?”  Remind yourself and your child, “For every problem there is a solution.  It’s just up to us to discover what that solution might be.” 

Play the “What if…?” game to generate possible solutions and help extinguish fear and restore mental and emotional calm.  You may be surprised by the insightful conclusion at the end of this game.

Parent:  “What if you try to skateboard and you fall off?” 

Child: “I might get hurt!” 

Parent: “What if you get hurt?” 

Child: “I’ll have to get you to find me a bandage or go to the doctor” 

Parent: “What if you have to wear a bandage or go to the doctor?” 

Child: “I might be embarrassed!” 

Parent:  “What if you are embarrassed?”

Child:  “I might get really red in the face.”

Parent:  “What if you get red in the face?”

Child:  “I’ll look funny and probably make you laugh.  And then I might laugh, too.  But, I guess that would mean I was okay again.”

            
 

To summarize, let’s use the acronym: P.U.L.L.

P is for provide (make sure you provide and rehearse the tools for success, gently pace the number of new challenges or experiences you are providing, and then provide the freedom of choice to do it on their own)

U is for understand (make sure you both understand that the strongest of all motivational pulls is intrinsic—motivation that comes from within, not from some external prize (Pink, 2009)).

L is for listen (make sure you listen closely to your child’s words, what he/she needs to succeed, and focus on his/her strengths)

L is for love (make sure you love your child even when he/she is scared, angry, or confused and pushes you away. Love your child enough to let go in the moments they need to do it “all by myself!”)

Okay, Ready? Set? No? PULL BACK—either yourself or your child!

This will be the sixth in the “Six Types of Courage” that we will explore in-depth. We hope you’ve already had the chance to read over our page called “The Six Types of Courage” for a brief overview of our definitions.  The examples we give for each type of courage may apply to your children and/or to you —please keep in mind, when you are reading this post, that some of these examples may involve taking “baby steps” on your way to spiritual courage!  Every step towards courage is both worthwhile and important. 

Spiritual Courage

“This is my simple religion.  There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy.  Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.”— His Holiness the Dalai Lama

“Here is a test to find whether your purpose in life is finished: if you are alive, it isn’t.”— Richard Bach