parenting

Day 4

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I suppose technically it’s day 5, but the day is still going for me, and my kiddo’s didn’t sleep until nearly midnight tonight. We had plans to go out, go to the library cafe and get some air – but, as most plans with any pressure, things went a little haywire at home.

We had some real moments of dysregulation from everyone, and I found myself joining in the chaos instead of anchoring as a space for calm. Part of this may have been yet another phone call from the NHS informing me that I’ve had appointments made for me that I have no intention of attending, and have already spoken to a real human about; added on to the sore nose from K’s headbutts and the kids grumping over breakfast options, it’s no surprise I wasn’t exactly the poster for gentle parenting today.

However, what I was was real. Authentic. Honest. I told them that I had a headache, and that it would be helpful if we could rest and read or cuddle for a bit. We attempted to play Simone Says – it did not work! We attempted some games of imaginary play – they did not work because each child wanted a different game. We attempted a dance it out party. When everything failed, I put a film on, and even that was a little bit of chaos because it was the wrong one. So chaos descended … and when everyone had had their cries and cuddles, we all came together, played fetch with the dog, and had snacks. Honestly, it sounds pretty okay writing it out, but there were a few moments in there where I thought “well fuck, I am done with today”.

But here I am, and we turned the day around. After the chaos and cries and cuddles, we played, we sang, we read a few books, and then K asked for bed. So he fell asleep and P was listening to his audiobook, and A decided she wanted to play stickers. In the end, P and A played while I pressed t-shirts, they helped and made games with the used vinyl and then got the crystals out. P took himself off to bed again and A asked if she could walk around the house with a candle for blessings and protection. We lit one and I followed her as she walked, telling me that the fire energy was protecting the house, and that when she’s an adult she’ll be able to light the candles with a lighter like me.

It has me thinking about repair, and about how, though yes I was deep in the midst of my lizard brain too today, having a practice that I can lean on helps bring me back. I apologized to P once we’d settled and said, even though yes I was upset and they were upset and everyone was shouting, it is ultimately my job to keep them safe, and they don’t deserve to be yelled at because my big feelings explode. His response, as ever was perfect “I knew you’d say sorry mummy, and it’s okay, we all went a bit crazy with our volcanoes but I still love you”.

They have so much grace. So much space for forgiveness. So much love.

Before A slept, we had a similar moment where she said “I am proud of us mummy, we got angry and sad and then went back to being friends”.

This is why I am so adamant that we can repair. It isn’t about never getting it wrong. It’s about being authentic, messing up and making up… and when we have days like this, where in some moments I worry that I’ve traumatized my kids and passed on or created negative beliefs, I also am given signs from them, and the universe that ultimately, we do the best we can with the resources we have. Today I ran out of spoons, and so did they… but we made more. We made up. And though yes, they might remember the moments of shouting and upset, all I can do is hope that the moments of repair are more impactful than the ones of rupture.

Tomorrow we are off on an adventure… tonight, I am grateful to be living this life.

With love,

Rohana x

“Freeze” as a stress response to parenting

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I wrote recently about 3 steps I use as a quick way that I try and move out of a ‘fight’ response when my kids trigger me, and I based my writing off of conversations with other parents too, creating essentially a mini strategy that is helpful moving away from fight and into a space of connection.

Since then however, almost as though the universe has been prompting me, I have found myself not reacting in anger or annoyance, as much as I have felt exhausted, unbothered and in a mood where I just want to say “do what you want then!” I suppose if my kids were older, or if I were a different parent, I would – but thankfully they are little and I am working hard to break away from old mainstream cycles of parenting.

So instead, I leaned in to my toolbox, resourced myself and now I’m choosing to write about it.

The freeze response is, in many ways a little bit hidden. It wasn’t until my oldest was nearly 6 that I understood it in the way I’m about to share; so if it feels new, don’t worry, it is!

‘Freeze’ is a survival response, and we know that when being threatened, if freezing is our body’s best survival strategy, then that’s what we’ll do. It isn’t a choice… because ultimately, our body’s are far quicker at making decision than our minds can catch up with.

However, in parenting, especially parenting little ones (and I’m guessing teenagers too!), when we move into a freeze response, it’s often masked as a feeling of apathy or exhaustion – the kind of response where your kid does something again and instead of getting angry or even upset, you move into the whatever, it doesn’t make a difference kid of mood.

It’s when I doom scrolling Instagram reels or the putting TV on just so that they’ll stop arguing… where the energy to do anything is zapped away.

Freeze is not a choice... in my experience, its often a sign of burnout.

However, like with fight, there are ways that can help move away from it. As parents, this isn’t a long term solution, and it doesn’t replace actually doing the work of healing and understanding why we feel like this in the first place, but, it can help in moment to moment parenting; where we need a quick fix until we can carve out some time to dig deeper.

How?

Well, the essential thing to understand here is that FIGHT is a sympathetic response to a trigger; where our bodies have decided that, in order to survive the threat, we need to fight our way out.

FREEZE is not like that, it’s a parasympathetic response. Often you’ll hear energy workers etc say that parasympathetic is good (which it can be) because it is our ‘rest and digest’ system, BUT that isn’t always the case; because in fact, the freeze response is an exaggerated rest response, in an attempt to survive whatever threat we perceive to exist. Think how an animal plays dead to avoid becoming prey; our bodies will perceive a threat, and make the decision to ‘play dead’ by becoming lethargic, apathetic or avoidant in order to survive.

So….

To get out of this, we need some activation. Which means, shaking, moving, dancing, getting motivated or, eliminating the perceived threat. Since the housework isn’t going to do itself, and dinner will still be uncooked after a doom scroll, elimination as a parent is probably not likely – our kids will still be shouting for us even if we can’t imagine what they could possibly need now.

Therefore, once we realize we are freezing, the next thing to do is get moving. Put some music on, do some dragon breathing or kapalabati (if safe to do so), shake or jump or, my personal favourite the past few weeks has been to find an easy dopamine hit. As my ADHD brain moves into freeze and I know that I need to get out, I’ve found that having a quick fix of dopamine is a real help. Snacks are a winner. Music absolutely. AND a small side project that brings joy with only a small amount of effort or time – for me this has been working through some photography edits. Anything that won’t be a hyperfocus but brings joy works brilliantly.

Ultimately, freeze is a sign of taking on too much, and being overwhelmed. As a neurodivergent human, this is something I didn’t understand affected me more until I learned that it actually does. So if you are ND then solidarity! And if you’re not, then that doesn’t make your overwhelm any less valid, it literally just means you’ll find it in different spaces or be able to tackle it with the same or different tools.

It isn’t a sign that we are failing.

It isn’t a sign that life is too hard.

It isn’t a sign that we can’t cope.

It is a survival response to our situation, and a nudge from our body (and the universe) that something probably needs to change for us to thrive.

With spring here, Ostara this week and the earth in the northern hemisphere beginning to bloom, I encourage you to walk outside with bare feet on the earth… grounding into a bigger energy is something that I deeply appreciate and have leaned on a lot recently. Finding a practice that brings joy; and breathing outside with no goal other than to just exist for a few minutes. Walks at the beach or somewhere with water are also a firm favourite.

If you’re in freeze, I see you. It won’t last forever.

With love,

Rohana x

3 steps to moving away from ‘Fight’ When our children trigger us

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

The word trigger is a buzzword on social media, so forgive me for using it here. Being triggered isn’t something to take lightly, and in various contexts, can be a life saving mechanism of the body. For me, here I use it because the word expresses the causal factor to starts the chain reaction from an event with our children, to the point where we react somatically. It is the first domino in the line … that often, though not always, causes a rupture in our relationship (this goes for parent and child, friends, siblings and even partners; all in their own similar and unique ways).

Before I carry on; I’d highlight that ‘Fight’ is only 1 of the responses that can occur; and in a series of writings this month, I will be covering the other 3 as well.

Picture this: you’re playing with your kid, they’re having fun, you’re relaxed, the atmosphere is easeful. And then, they make a noise, or do something to hurt a sibling/toy or break a house rule. It activates you – you’re body goes from peaceful and playful into anger. The action or sound is the first domino, and your anger is one of the next. Your anger is BIG, you might not say anything, or you might shout ‘no’ , look at them in angry way or do something like turn away – they sense the change in energy and they mirror it… and then you’re both angry, both upset, and after a shout or stomp their end, maybe even yours, you walk away… angry and puzzled at how something so minor became such an issue.

Your whole body is tense. Your nervous system is right up there in anger… your sweet little child, in that moment became a threat, and your ‘fight’ mode has been well and truly activated.

It isn’t because you want it to be, but rather because ‘fight’ is a body response to threat, and our brains cannot really tell the difference between actual threat and perceived threat. Add on probably years of messages compounded into our subconscious about what is okay and not, and our habitual response is to get angry and want to fight out of the situation.

Luckily toddlers are graceful, and we can absolutely rewire patterns that mean we change the way we react. Understanding where ‘fight’ shows up in our bodies, and acknowledging it is the first step.

For me, when I get mad (often when my kids fight with each other and rough play moves to attempts at intentional injury) I feel it in my hands and my throat. I want to shout, my belly tenses and my hands tingle. It is a sign that I am out of my rational brain and have moved into my amygdala, the primal response part of my brain, and my body is in survival.

When I fight, I yell. I shout and in my body have my own little temper tantrum… something I have actively worked on understanding, healing and changing for the past 4 years.

Before I understood this, my kids felt like little monsters when this happened. I couldn’t understand why but I would feel so overwhelmed and wonder how they were the same child… sometimes I fall back into this but its rare now; usually even in my anger I can see they are doing their best and the first domino could have been prevented if xyz had changed. So after the rupture, we tell a story, and try and figure out what needed changing; if I should have stepped in sooner or if we needed to redirect etc.

So if step 1 is finding ‘fight’ in our body, then what comes next?

Step 2, is accepting it. Easier said than done, but it truly is essential. Anger is our somatic experience of boundaries being crossed or pushed. It is the way our bodies are communicating with us, well before we have fully processed what the first domino was. When we accept it, we dissipate some of the energetic charge it holds. We feel it, allow it, and then, as if by magic, being seen/felt/acknowledged, the heaviness lifts and we can change it.

That’s not to say don’t ever go back, feel and heal as needed, but in the moment, when we want to avoid major ruptures, or just know that now is not the time to explode because reacting in an adrenal response isn’t really the ideal form of parenting (unless it is because there is actual danger – in which case, ABSOLUTELY react! Get your kid out the road, away from the ledge or whatever other danger may be present) and moving into a grounded space is a band aid, but it won’t address the root of the problem. To do this, requires deeper, intentional work, not an in the moment kind of medicine. The bigger healing comes in many forms, and though I have my preferences, there is no ‘right way’.

Step 3 then, is MOVE. Make our bodies shake, laugh, dance, get out the room, squat down to a toddler/child level, bounce and then look at them to listen; stretch upwards and take breaths to feel your chest expanding as much as is comfortable, or, do anything that allows movement. Sometimes this means saying out loud “wow, i have some angry energy, I need to shake it out, can you help me?” which is especially effective with younger kids because it both affirms that it isn’t their fault, and it gets them learning how we can healthily change the tone of a conversation. I don’t have a 1 size fits all, but movement is my tried, tested and absolute favourite way to change energy away from anger and fight, into a space where we can build connection, repair if needed and work through whatever boundaries need to be asserted.

On a good day, I use this without even thinking, making a game or changing the play to include more movement for everyone. On a harder day, it takes intentional pause, feeling the feelings, saying sorry for yelling and making a choice to walk, move and make changes to whatever is going on. A bonus is getting outside in the sunshine if its available, or taking a bundled up walk to find something cool – again, way easier with younger kids, but not impossible with older ones; a walk to pick up a favourite snack, dinner ingredient or catch some pokemon or whatever thing they are into works as well.

And that’s it, 1, 2, 3. They are simple. They are accessible. They are also really hard to remember in the moment, and it takes practice (just like life).

Raising Humans ~ A poem

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall


My child is not a toy
Or a blank slate to be molded
My child is not bad
Or naughty to be scolded

His sister isn’t mean
Her brother isn’t rough

They’re humans learning to live
And life can be tough

We criticise children
Without giving them their dues.
Children are among the most oppressed
Of our society – though it’s not news.

We don’t respect them
We constantly correct them
We tell them to stop, don’t talk
We make them walk
Even when their tired

Our children’s childhoods
Are endangered
And it’s definitely our fault
Somehow we’ve forgotten
We’re raising humans
And so we default,
To old age tactics of shame and blame.
To bribery and tears.
We seem to think our children won’t be scarred,
By us belittling their fears.

My children are not blank slates
Or performing monkeys doing tricks
And neither are yours
Or yours.
Or yours.
They’re humans
And raising them is politics.


Connection, Causal Comments and Costumes of our Life

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

I wrote this more than a year ago … for some reason, I thought it wasn’t right to share at the time. Perhaps because I felt raw from the day, or perhaps because I got busy … either way, I’m sharing it now. Because as I read it back, I realised just how much I needed my own words today… and I am so immensely grateful that I have this space to write.

With love, from a past version of myself xox

” I was on the bus today, and of course, bus trips mean lots of people. Always opinions, some lovely, others not; but more recently, as I’ve been building up to solo trips with the kids again in the better weather, with them all being older, and E, now 20 months having lots more opinions about the buggy; I’ve thought about how we use the time travelling to connect.

Today, we played I-spy, our version of the game, using colours instead of phonics, and sometimes throwing in the odd shape or physical reference like ‘tall’ or ‘wide’ instead. The kids sat, and looked around, and E started to whine because he was strapped into the buggy. Luckily, another mum got on, and the connection between him and her daughter began, until he fell asleep!

We (mums) chat for a while, talking about kids and coping; she shared some wisdoms about being a mum of 7, and I shared some frustrations about villageless parenting. We connected – over the shared experience of splitting ourselves into multiple pieces, stretching so our children could have parts of us, and simultaneously loving the chance and choice to do this, and being exhausted by it. I told her I thought her family must be beautiful, and I admired her honesty. She told me that it gets easier and harder, affirming that no choice is right, but that we do what we can with the knowledge we have.

A brief, meaningful chat, interrupted by a gentleman getting on the bus and sitting down adjacent to my older 2. “you’ve got your hands full” he said gruffly to me.

“Oh I really do” I replied. “Full of love with my amazing children”.

“Uh, not all the time I bet” was his response!

The other mum looked at me and we shared a moment of horror at the roughness in his voice.

“They really are amazing” I told him. It was our stop. We left.

And once again, I thought about connections. Some positive, some negative, all, inevitably will have an impact on our energy fields. Why do some people feel so harshly about children? Why do they judge when there is more than 1? What did he gain? What was so triggering for him? I wondered aloud a little, with the general cautionary calls to my kids about the road. I thought about how hard it might be for some people to see kids being so free and confident, when they might have never been given the chance to be so.

I wondered how my children felt. Though they know we’ve had these comments and conversations before, so they said they were hardly ruffled, more interested in the scrap metal yard instead. But how does this impact children? How do we make them feel when we comment about how hard they are constantly?

What message do we send when we say, I’ve had enough of you? Because in most instances they never get to say that to us.

Thinking about my children, and the brief beautiful encounter with this lady, I remembered a quote I’d read in an email this week by Rupaul that “You’re born naked and the rest is drag”.

Kindness costs nothing.

The appearances we choose every day impact every single human around us. We are born naked, and needing others to survive… as we grow we create costumes for ourselves every season of life… and yet, when we die, we return to the earth .. dust. The short space of time in between, in the costumes we choose may be brief, but it is so powerful.

The lady on the bus today gave me hope… and it was thanks to her, that though the gentleman’s words stung, I could brush them away, and hold my babies close. A year ago, I might have been brought to tears (probably would have!). Thank you, whoever you are. I am grateful.”

That’s it.

That’s the post. A short meeting that left a big impact.

Whatever your day looks like. Wherever you are in the world. I hope you know this:

You are loved. You are important. You are so much more than enough.

Radiators, Drains and Energy transfer

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

A while ago a friend of mine was chatting about energy vampires, and how the term really wasn’t fair because often people don’t mean to suck the energy out of others. Instead she said, she was taught about how people can either be radiators or drains.

We can radiate joy or love, or we can pull the plug, and it’ll drain out of us, and eventually other people to.

This really resonated with me, because I think many of us go through periods of being both of these throughout our lives, and sometimes, we’re neutral – though always a little more inclined to one pole. That said, life in 2023 is anything but binary, so of course, thinking about our energy contribution or contamination is the same; we all sit somewhere in the spectrum.

Where we sit is up to us. At least in part.

Yes Tony Robins will tell you that you decide it all, that you have a giant within and can bend space to your will; and I believe him to an extent, but I am also a neurodivergent woman who’s got 3 (also likely neurodivergent) kids and a 12 week old puppy. I know, that as much as I can decide something and make a plan, life happens. What I can do is figure out who the biggest energy in the room is.

Confused? Yeah, I was too!

It’s taken me a while to figure out what I meant when I wrote that down in a journal after listening to many talks and coaches and trying to figure out why I was still spending days spinning out when my kids and life got chaotic.

I can control what I do / how I react within the capacity I have.
I can check in with my body and see where the energy is.
I can look to find the biggest energy in the room – i.e. who’s the radiator or who’s the drain, and who’s winning?

If I’m with my kids and my 6yo is bringing all the radiator energy and LOVE for whatever the game is, I will absolutely give him the space to be the biggest energy.

Conversely, if he’s in a grump or screaming; I need to be a bigger energy so that I can help him through co-regulation. Fancy word, but all it means is I can step in to help calm without joining the chaos. Importantly, I need to genuinely validate the chaos first.

Then, I set the mood by leading.

I choose to drain the grumpiness away and instead radiate a more neutral feeling.

Does it always work? Nope.
Is it effective? YES!

Like everything, sometimes things change, sometimes I’ll try switching to fun and they’re hungry or too hot and the attempt at fun actually peaks a whole new drama. Sometimes, I just haven’t got the energy.

But regardless, as my son said to me recently “we’re all just made up of energy and molecules moving around” so no-matter what we’re doing, we are somewhere on that spectrum.

“we’re all just made up of energy and molecules moving around”

P, aged 6

I’ll leave you with these musings for now,

As always, thanks for reading. You are awesome!

It takes time to change

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

“You doing okay?” my partner asked today.

“I feel like a shitty mum and a shitty wife for dumping loads on you today” I replied.

“That’s what we do things, if you need help, ask”.

He just gets it.

So for context, the day has been SO good and also SO rollercoaster-y; like many many of the days in my life with the kids and now our puppy. We’ve had her for nearly 4 weeks, and it’s been the hardest time in many ways, and not because of toilet accidents or night waking.

I’ve had rebellion in the rain over shoes and socks at the park, and tears over wet bums and cold feet. Stomps because dinner wasn’t right and so many sibling arguments to referee today. It’s a beautiful chaos, topped into explosive territory because my middle and youngest child have started squeaking like squeaky toys around the puppy, and freaking out when she comes to play and jumps on them. So I’ve been separating the crazies all day.

Pretty normal.

Also a lot.

Which led to this text conversation… and me sharing my feelings.

And then, true to pretty much everything in life, especially with P, he couldn’t sleep. So started to chat about molecules with me; and we went downstairs to tidy up and set up an experiment.

3 bowls – water, ice and air.

He sat on the side; and watched, telling me the water would evaporate and ice would melt.

…

…

…

“It takes time for things to change mummy“

Another day, I might have nodded along and agreed without much thought, but tonight, he brought a much deeper lesson. He was talking about the molecules in the ice cube; I was hearing words that resonate about life.

It takes time for things to change.

And honestly, we live in a world that prioritizes instant gratification so much that waiting feels especially hard. We want things now, we want things tomorrow, we want things yesterday.

I think we’ve forgotten the beauty in the build up of excitement while we wait for things.

Its not easy, in fact, waiting is downright uncomfortable, and probably why I’ve been in such a weird headspace today; but waiting is a part of life, and the fact that he gets that; the fact that it’s just normal (ish) for him, makes me feel really hopeful tonight.

Wherever you are reading this,

Whatever life is bringing you,

Whatever changes you are waiting for,

It takes time.

So I’m here waiting with you, and want to remind you, you are loved, you are important, you are enough.

Thanks for reading,

xx Rohana

Grief: The Death of our Dog

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

Talking to kids about grief is a big topic, and it’s often one that many parents find hard. Most adults steer conversations away from grief, or are awkward when it comes up. So talking to children is even harder.

And it’s even more important.

These are my reflections of our experience of losing my parents dog, how it’s impacted my children and how it’s opened windows into conversations that we’d have otherwise probably not have had.

Last year, we spent a few months in Gibraltar living with my parents, and consequently my childhood dog who was 17 years old by that point. Soon after we came back to the UK, my dog (Lucky) died.

I didn’t bat an eyelid. Mum messaged me, and within the same hour I told my kids.

In my view, an hour, or day or week wouldn’t make a difference, except that I’d be lying by omission with absolutely no reason to. I knew it would be sad and hard, and I also knew that they would need the time to process it; so by telling them straight away, I could have my feelings and then be able to hold space for theirs when they came through in full force.

This proved to be an extremely valuable decision for us, because by the time the big feelings came a week later; I’d been able to light a candle, say a prayer, and celebrate the life and joy my dog had brought. It gave me the mental space to hold them, hear them, and also steer them through their grief. Yes she was a dog, not a person, but she was family, and they felt the impact of her loss deeply.

We had read books on death before, and regularly spoken about the circle of life, and we’d told the kids that Lucky was old in her bones. She slept a lot. Was slow. We knew it was coming.

They loved her. In the short spurts of time they’d spent with her, she left her pawprint in their hearts; especially my oldest who met her for the first time when he was 5 days old. She’s a part of their story, and their first real experience of death and grief.

When it hit them, the kids cried. They asked what would happen. They asked where she’d go. We spoke about different traditions, and how she specifically had been cremated so her ashes would return to the earth and new life would bloom where she was laid. Our favourite book was The Endless Story which is illustrated beautifully.

My parents kept her ashes and when we went back to Gibraltar, we scattered them together. We spoken about the grass and flowers, and how the ashes would seep into the soil, and be a part of the process to create new life. We spoke about how some people (including me) believe in reincarnation.

There were many tears. There was a lot of very audible and visual grief… and I told the kids to let it all out. They could be as sad as they wanted, in whatever way felt right to them.

My daughter collected flowers and cried. My oldest son sobbed and shouted, and said he wished we could be immortal jellyfish so we’d never die. My younger son wasn’t sure… he was too little really. But he was there, and that mattered. My parents and brother were with us of course, and they held my children, shared some fun stories and shared in sorrow too. It was a hard and important day.

That was 6 months ago.

With his recent birthday, P woke up several times in the weeks leading to it, with sobs of not wanting to get old because getting old means we are closer to dying.

Since then, topics of saddness, missing loved ones, wishing nobody would die, worrying that we’ll all get old and die, wanting to be cremated together and various other aspects of death have since become a part of our life. At any given moment, sometimes close together, sometimes with weeks in between, they’ll make a comment, or get quiet, or have a wave of tears about Lucky being dead. A (aged 3) has commented and cried things like “I didn’t want Lucky to die” or “I wish I could stroke Lucky again” … but her process has been straightforward for me, we’ve cuddled, cried, sonerimes shell ask for a story of when Lucky was little or for me to tell her about when she’d help my dad with dog walks, and then that’s it. P (aged 6) on thr other hand, has not been so straightforward; like with pretty nuch everything, his high sensitivity has really shone through.

The way I’ve been managing this has varied; sometimes it’s just a case of listening, reflecting back what he’s said, and then holding him through it. Reminding him that I am here and these feelings are normal. He often will spend a few minutes here in this space and then enter a new conversation with me or say he’s ready to play.

On his birthday, he said when we die, we disappear forever, and so I brought in the concept of memory keeping us alive, and about how people leave their legacy; I specifically said about how people that invent things might live on through their inventions or discoveries, like gravity and electricity, or through movies and stories like Vikings, or through preservation like the dinosaurs. All of those creatures/people might be dead, but we haven’t forgotten them. This worked remarkably well, and he visibly relaxed as he worked out that we fly planes and take pictures and drive cars, even if the people who invented them lived long ago.

Lastly, if it’s a really hard one, or a particularly big feeling, like when P says he wants us to all be immortal jellyfish, or when he tells me that he’s scared he won’t come back and be with the same family, I remind him he can choose what to believe. They there’s no right or wrong, and that nomatter what, we are here now, making the best of it. Usually this also involves cuddles or closeness too, something I’m particularly aware of because I want him to feel safe through the feelings.

Chatting about the grief has open windows of conversation, and we’ve spoken openly about how grown ups come back and that also not always. We’ve spoken about safety first in situations like climbing or jumping or in the car. We’ve spoken about age, and how age isn’t the only factor in death.

Mostly the emphasis is on saying thank you to the earth; for growing more and blooming, and showing us that there really is a circle of life.

As ever,

Thanks for reading xx

Rohana

Little voices, Anger and our brilliant brains

| Rohana Aisha Dewfall

You know when they’re little, they say some things but it sounds a little funny because they can’t quite pronounce it yet. Then suddenly, that little difference stops, and we wonder when they learnt to say words the way we do. Every time I hear my littlest talk at the moment, I want to record it all because I want to bottle it up and preserve the sweet accents and voices he does. Of course, that defeats the purpose of being in the moment and actually listening, but I have snuck in a few videos to send family and save as reminders.

I know that these years are fleeting, even when they feel busy. As we approach birthdays, where K will be 2 and P will be 6, I am reflecting on the way they have changed and the language they use. I don’t even remember when it became possible to have such grown up conversations with P, but he’s chatting away nine to the dozen daily, always with a new idea, explanation or request to build something in play. Today we’ve been playing Archelon nests and Ovoraptor mums and I’m struck by how this has become such a norm for us.

P delights in telling me everything about anything; and some of the most interesting conversations happen while he’s chatting away after bedtime, or when we’re out and I can lend him an ear a little more readily as we walk along. He doesn’t get words in as often as he’d like because I’m pulled between all 3 kids, and I can see that it’s having an impact; so when we’re out and he tells me about life and stories, I savour as much of it as I can.

A on the other hand, doesn’t wait for opportunity, she will talk and talk and talk, and has been for years. She really enjoys watching videos on my phone that I’ve taken of them over the years, and sometimes will tell me there’s a specific one I need to see. It gives me the chance to relive some of the best moments, and reminds me why I capture so much when I can; because they change and it feels like forever but also too soon. Hearing her talk on these videos brings to light just how early she’s articulated and narrated her life; and I do sometimes joke that we must have blanked out some months during the pandemic lockdowns because she feels far more grown up.

That said, though I watch my children and marvel at the way they act for their years, I also know they are very much this way because they’ve been given the freedom to grow their voices, challenge us, and come back to safety. I didn’t start parenting thinking this would be the way we parent our kids, but as the years go by, I am more convinced that it’s working well for us. A mix of ideas, lots of trying things out and lots of changes to empower the humans we’re growing with.

A couple days ago, I asked P to stop swinging and hitting the wall with his feet. A little while later, he got upset with his sister and went to throw a punch. We sat down, he screamed at me and told me he had to go hurt her because she started it. So I said “I get it, you’re so mad right now, your hands won’t even let you stop being angry” and then I showed him how when we clench our fits ready to punch, our body and brain message each other to be angry. Alternatively, when we hold our palms flat, open towards the sky/ceiling, our body and brain send messages of calm.

Fascinated, but still upset with his sister; we turned it into a game where he would do something he knew wasn’t allowed – in this case hit the wall as he swung, and I would be “super, extra anrgy mummy” making a fist, stomping my feet and growling before chasing him until he turned around and opened my palms up to the sky and I’d sigh and relax.

We soon had A involved too and they giggled and giggled at the game; which from my reading about playful parenting, I absolutely took as a good sign on emotional release.

I not only marveled later about this snippet of our day from an emotional regulation perspective, but also through the lens of their little voices. I don’t have the urge to video record everything anymore with P, because he’s chats are so different, but I will bring out the dictaphone we bought to record stories with him; and a while back when he was interested and asked me to, we recorded some stories on a podcast for them to listen to. It’s hardly used, and there are about 4 or 5 I haven’t got round to uploaded yet because the interest was lost; but if they want to pick it up, we can. I loved recording them with him, especially where he’d say the words too, because it really felt like a moment of his voice frozen in a beautiful way. I’ve also used it to record stories for our Yoto player, and that’s been fantastic because they absolutely love listening to library books we’ve borrowed and returned, but preserved for when they are in the mood.

Speaking of our Yoto player, P gave me a quick lesson about how our lungs have trees called alveoli and about how the skin is actually our largest organ. He loves lying down with the player and going through the cards when I am busy with his siblings.

His sister on the other hand isn’t fully into audiobooks, but I have often walked into her reading to herself or chatting away about something in a book, to whom I presume are imaginary friends around her. Her chats are so different to his, and while he tells me how things work, she tells me how beautiful life is. She’ll tell me she loves things, the colours, the shapes, the sounds. She’ll ask to play games with me and then get bored, go find P and I hear them playing a version of things they’ve watched on TV, chatting away and planning roles. It’s the best sound, and one, I really never imagined we’d get to when they would fight all the time.

Home educating them has meant we focus a lot on conflict resolution though, and I can see my attempts and explaining energy and actions are starting to show. I can see how, even though I’ll have to call out “sort it out guys” or step in like with the punching scenario above; they are also learning how to work together. They call themselves a team, and P will say our team has 5 people, but because daddy’s away, it’s got 4 right now until he’s back. It’s a wonderful thing to hear for me, because even though I know it’s his coping mechanism and sounds a little sad, it’s also a beautiful one, and healthier than others from the past. I can see the growth, and importantly, I am learning more deeply that while I have influence over my children as their parent, I cannot control the way they react to situations but I absolutely can do my own inner work and co-regulate with them to build resilience as they get older.

This month has been a rollercoaster, in the same way that many months have been, with changes of direction and disconnection while we each find out feet figuring out what we need. I’m leaning into screen time as a tool for productivity but also for connection; joining them in their joy while they show me what they can do on a game, or chatting with them about the episodes they watch. I’m adapting so that they can have moments of time with me, which had been few and far between since their dad left in April, and I am factoring in, for the first time in years a 20 minute yoga practice that even if it’s midnight, I will make time for.

I tell my kids about their playdough brain; reminding them they can grow their brain and expand their capacity regularly. In doing this, I guess I’ve also been giving myself room to expand my own capacity too; slowly integrating the future I want to manifest for them from a cognitive ideal, to an experience. I have spent years focusing on making sure they know about their brilliant brains, and in doing so, I’m seeing this month how my own brain is brilliant too (and as a reminder to you reading this, yours is brilliant as well).

Wishing you a beautiful day, week and month ahead.

With love,

Rohana x