Reasons Not To Shout
“Mina, DO NOT EAT THAT!”
I shout for the nth time that day. I close my mouth, and take a deep breath, watching her big, beautiful brown eyes looking at me with uncertainty. She has the offending object between thumb and forefinger, poised close to her mouth. She looks like she always does after I’ve shouted at her, a bit scared, a bit shocked. If I keep this up that shock will turn to expectation, maybe fear, to something else I don’t want.
I take another deep breath. I’ve been telling myself day after day that today, today I will not shout/yell at her. Today, I will deal with her with calm, temperance, a smile even. The day goes on and I think I’m finally managing well when I take my eyes off her in one second, only to swivel back at that opportune time, when I see her doing any number of things. Picking up a grain of crumb my sweeping missed on the floor and trying to eat it (I thought they were supposed to be over putting everything in their mouth by this age?); her hand in her diaper again, crashing a toy to the wooden floor.
My first reaction always is to shout impulsively. Followed by a sigh. I seem to be doing a lot of both lately.
Right now, as she looks at me with those uncertain eyes though, I remember all the reasons why I want to stop yelling. First, I don’t want to raise a child that shouts to get herself heard; I don’t want her thinking that it’s okay. Second, I don’t want her forming memories of me as a shouting mother. Third, I don’t like the look in her eyes when I raise my voice at her. Lastly, I know it’s inefficient in getting her to stop doing what I want her to stop doing. Shouting will desensitize her to its effect, and as she grows older, I may have to yell exponentially louder to get her to hear me; not necessary listen. And that’s what I want her to ultimately do: to listen to me.
Let’s put it this way, do any of us like to listen to anybody yelling at us?
So, I turn away from what I’m doing and walk over to the curly-haired cherub.
“Give it to me,” I say in a calm voice, my face neutral. She gives it me, and is pleased with herself. She smiles and I smile back.
“Guh-bage” she says.
“Yes, that’s right. Garbage.” And we both walk over to the trash bin to throw the crumb away.
Now for the thing that takes time. I squat down and start explaining to her why Mommy doesn’t want her picking things up from the floor. She looks at me quietly as I talk, seeming to take everything in. She is so patient that I think she probably understands me. Does she? Probably not. But I’ll keep talking to her, and explaining to her, and some day she’ll get it. And when that happens, I’ll find another reason not to shout.
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