Fast, Shallow, Breaths

We were in front of our county’s child advocacy office, just outside my own office door. My daughter had already screamed that her “best mommy was trying to kill her,” because I was holding the line on shoes (in my defense, it was snowing). I was urging her, in my calmest, quietest voice, to take slow, deep, breaths.

“Honey. Do it with me.” (inhale) “Slow,” (exhale) “Deep,” (inhale) “Breaths.” (exhale).

‘NO I’M GOING TO TAKE FAST SHALLOW BREATHS MOMMY! FAST!! SHALLOW!! BREATHS!” I can’t remember how we got out of the situation, I just remember her screaming, and my humiliation. My insistence to slow down was completely counter to her need to be heard echoed throughout the building. She couldn’t imagine a world in which she would slow down and adequately communicate the heartfelt urgency driving her fury.

Maybe she was right; it’s possible that had she slowed down and “used her words” I still wouldn’t have heard them to her satisfaction. I also bear responsibility– despite my attempts, I was at best, fake calm, and there’s not a toddler in the world who can’t see straight through that scene. All of my admonitions were aimed at quieting her, not at understanding, not at connecting. I wasn’t interested in understanding whatever led her to refuse shoes in the snow.

I tell the fast shallow breath story a lot, because it’s a funny story that highlights the importance of connection; something Relational-Cultural Theory (RCT) emphasizes. My kids are gifted at instantly dismantling any parental dignity I may have. What I don’t do, is look closely at the missed connections of that moment.

When I freeze that moment, I see her red cheeks, tears streaming down her face. She wasn’t pressing my buttons for fun; she was truly distraught. My response to her upset had been to hold her down and try to stuff her feet into boots, while advising her to take slow deep breaths. I’d thrown gasoline on her fire because of my fears and insecurities about parenting in public. There was no deep breathing, no real connection.

We’re both more mature now. On the occasion that we snap at each other, we are usually able to breathe and reconnect. I can’t help but wonder if I’d slowed down that evening and just listened, how different it would have been. What if I’d sat down next to her, setting aside my fears about parenting in public, and reflected her feelings, taken the time to really see her, to wonder about who she was, who I was, and the cultural forces feeding both of our fears?

This memory echoed throughout the day yesterday. On a global level things felt louder, more dangerous. Nationally, we were (and are) reeling from another terrorist attack. Locally, teens worried on social media that a boy with hurt feelings was planning violent revenge at our schools. My own family wrestled with health issues, moving logistics, and finances. To say things felt urgent would be an understatement. When someone suggested a deep breath I couldn’t reply for a bit because the only thing that came to me was my daughter’s refrain: FAST SHALLOW BREATHS.

The beauty, and challenge, of Relational-Cultural Theory is that it slows things down in order to connect. The first step in connecting with anything– ourselves, our lovers, our political opposites– is to slow down and engage our curiosity. Because to “do” RCT, you have to engage in a interrogation of yourself and the other person, your relationship and the cultural forces shaping it, so rushing it is ineffective, really, it’s impossible. Deep breathing is one helpful tool in this work; possibly the easiest, most accessible, and successful tool, but it is not the end goal. That snowy night at my office, I was in such a hurry for that calm, that I thought deep breathing was the goal, and I forgot to connect first.

Say it with me, again. The first step is to be curious, and connect with what you find. You may find fast shallow breaths. You may find rage, exhaustion, or terror. RCT isn’t asking us to put on our pleasant “relating” faces, it’s asking us to pull up our authentic faces. We can connect with what is happening right now. The authentic connection, even when it’s over something terrifying, provides enough stability that soon, we’ll be taking the slow deep breaths, together.

It’s a paradox. Our connection will help soothe our anxious brains, but it can’t work if it can’t first see what is there. The first work of that connection is seeing the anxiety/rage/discomfort/whatever and letting it be there. It can’t be trying to suppress, fix, or avoid it. But once we have that acceptance of what is, that authentic connection in the midst of struggle, there’s enough solid ground for calm to take root. We have to risk the fast shallow breaths to get to the good deep ones. Relational-Cultural Theory can help us get there.