When my daughter was about four, she was going through a rather rebellious phase. Any request to her, to do anything, from brushing her teeth to changing her clothes, showering or putting away her toys, was met with stubborn refusal. There was no way of logically arguing with her. Her answer was just “no” for everything. As a parent I was willing to give brushing teeth or having a bath a miss for one day, but beyond that I felt some basic rules of hygiene had to be imposed. One night, after many hours of periodic, gentle requests, I lost it. I scolded and yelled at her. I force brushed her teeth and gave her a quick bath, with her crying and protesting and yelling “no” the whole time. By the time she was finally clean and changed, her eyes were dry, but there was new visible emotion—anger. She probably felt outraged and a bit violated. I felt deep anger too. I felt I had wasted hours of my time requesting her to do what should be the most normal and mundane of tasks. I couldn’t understand how a tiny little tot had such a stubborn will to refuse and continue to behave in an unreasonable manner. I had a hundred other things to take care of, and here I was fretting for three hours to do something that should normally take 10 minutes. It was exhausting. It just wasn’t fair.

Now from the time my daughter was an infant we had a bedtime routine: Once in bed I would read to her, then we’d cuddle and chat for a few minutes, and I’d pat her to sleep.

That night as soon as she got into bed, my daughter turned around and looked the other way. “You don’t want a story tonight?” I asked tersely. There was no reply. To be honest, I didn’t feel like reading a story either. My nerves were frayed, I felt emotionally drained by her behaviour, and even more by own my anger and frustration. I lay down beside her and put my hand on her to pat her, the way I always did. She edged away from me, just a few inches, but enough to tell me she didn’t want me to touch her. “Fine,” I said. “Suit yourself.” Taking my hand off her, I got up and went to my desk, which was in the same room. At least I’d get some work done!

I stared at the computer screen for what must have been five minutes, but I couldn’t focus. Then I looked toward my sleeping child. The small trickle of a tear had slipped out of one eye onto her nose, and it sparkled in the low light. It took me back to my own memories, of all the times I’d gone to bed upset or crying, as a child, or even as an adult. In that moment I was overcome with a great sense of sadness. As a new mom, I didn’t know much about raising a child, but what immediately struck me in that moment was something I did know: I wanted her life to be better than mine, in every way possible. Maybe that’s what all parents wish for their children, but in that instant, that thought swept over me with great force. I got up and slipped back into bed beside her. “I’m sorry I forced you to brush and have a bath,” I said. “I know you didn’t want to, but I felt it had to be done, you’d skipped it in the morning and last night too.” “I know how you feel” I continued my arm pulling her closer. “But I don’t want you to go to bed sad or angry. I want you to know that above all, I love you. I love you very much.” My daughter remained frozen under my arm, motionless. I could not see her face, which was still turned away. With the gentlest touch, I patted her arm, I soothed her back, stroked her long black hair. I continued doing that for at least ten minutes with absolutely no reaction. Then slowly but surely, the little body turned towards me. She looked me straight in the eye, and lifted one corner of her mouth in the faintest of half smiles. Then a little arm was released from under her and wrapped around me. We cuddled for a few minutes and then I said: “Let’s make it a pact, you must never go to sleep angry or crying. Never, ever. Whatever it is, let’s sort it out before we go to bed. I want you to go to bed in peace.” I’m not sure she understood what I was saying. It didn’t matter. I knew what I was saying, and I knew I was going to make the effort to hold on to that, to make it true.

My daughter is now 12. Over the years I’ve repeated this pact to her many times, no matter what the cause of her grievance. “Don’t go to bed angry. Is it something I’ve done? Let’s talk it over. Let’s make up before you go to sleep. I’m sorry if you’re hurt or angry. I know how you feel. Tell me what’s wrong. I love you. Don’t ever forget, I love you.”

While not going to bed angry may not hold true for me, for my daughter I’ve tried very hard to make it hold steady. And to date, so long as I am around, I’ve never allowed her to go to bed upset or angry, never allowed her to go sleep without some kind of resolution, or without telling her that no matter what, I love her dearly. ♦

Top Photo by Aditya Romansa on Unsplash