Shame

I don't know where the notion of  'shame' fits into parenting anymore.

And in particular what it's role is with kids like Lily.

I know that it was my mother's favourite tool and I don't think she was alone in the 1970s.  Her mother had used shame and a stair rod, thankfully mine used shame and a rare smack on the bottom.  Husband and I were warned off using anything that might make our children, who had been neglected by birth parents and moved on from foster parents, feel bad about themselves.  Fair enough, I get it. 

There are other tools we can use: encouragement, reward and I think there is an expectation that the child will recognise when it is being shown extra care and consideration and will respond to that.  I believe it is a natural assumption to think that a damaged child, one that has received even less care and consideration might be especially appreciative.  We might not admit it but we would like them to feel grateful.  Yet the truth is, a damaged child is even less able to acknowledge that kind of care.  If they notice it at all they can become 'drunk' on it, demanding even more, afraid it will go away and not trusting where it is coming from or what it might mean (Lucas).  Or it is greeted with the same level of apathy as no care at all (Lily).  A child like Lily, with ASD on top, doesn't instinctively know what might be 'normal' and what is above and beyond the call of duty.  

To some extent this is true of all of us isn't it. I challenged my brother to think about what he would have done with his particular brand of teenage obstinance when he was reflecting on our mum's approach and he was stumped.  It's helped me to remember how, as a teenager and in the heat of the moment, I always thought my mum was wrong.   

So as I hover outside Lily's door at 8.30am when she is clearly still in bed, almost certainly still asleep, I try to weigh up the merits of maintaining a stern expectation that she get up and go to school against a loving acknowledgement that she is overwhelmed, exhausted and unable to face the day.  On the one hand I would invoke all the guilt of failed commitments, grades, the future associated with that and I would hope this would motivate her to get going.  On the other, I could give her comfort and sympathy and feel good vibes which she might draw on to start feeling positive enough to make a move.  In fact, I know that neither of these will have any effect.  The question is, though, what is the legacy of my action (or inaction)?  

If I appear to accept that she makes no effort to go to school today am I saying it's ok? Does it build the foundations of this Covid generation's belief that they can pick and choose when they meet obligations to suit themselves?  If I give her extra love and understanding will she keep drawing on me every time she feels like this and reinforce an idea that she can drop out and suffer no consequence?

I suppose the truth is, this is just one moment in many and on it's own it is not so powerful as to determine her destiny, or mine.  I didn't bother to knock on her door or go into her room.  I emailed school that she would not be coming in and I came here to write this. 

I will not be angry with her about not going to school but I will not make it ok either.