"Okay. Maybe later."

Butterfly struggled from the moment she woke up yesterday. She seemed very angry- a short fuse. By the time Teacher came to pick her up for the day, she had  already had two explosive episodes. Apparently she struggled at camp too. By the time I arrived home from work, everyone seemed a bit frazzled. 

We had plans to go to a concert at the beach with the whole family. Before we left, Butterfly began screaming, big tears rolling down her face while she writhed around on the ground- angry? disappointed? sad? There was no play structure for her at the beach. She wanted to play at a playground- period.  I couldn't touch her. She was too much on the edge. I sat on the floor with her thinking most almost 6 yr. olds don't do this..why do I keep losing her to her own feelings? Why do I still feel so helpless? Why don't I know how to soothe her yet? 

I suddenly felt exhausted. I had rushed home from work so we could all enjoy the evening. I was really looking forward to doing something fun. I was angry with myself for not being able to see these tidal waves coming... and not being able to prevent them. I was sad for Brother who was excited and happy about the concert, vying for my attention which was focused solely on Butterfly. I was mad at Butterfly... here we go again. Either one of us has to stay home with her or we all go and risk having to leave quickly if we have another episode.  And, no matter what, we will be late because we can't walk out the door like this. 

I move to give her space so she can't kick me. Then I begin my monologue, which it always is at this point. "It looks like you are having some really big feelings right now." Inside, I acknowledge that I am having some damn big feelings too. I try to stay in observation mode-  neutral, calm. I remember Teacher telling me long ago that she doesn't take it personally. I breathe and ask for a little patience. If Butterfly senses that I am in a hurry, it always takes much longer. I move to the present and let go of our plans.  I continue talking. I always wonder if she can even hear me at moments like this. 

Eventually I notice a slight shift in the tension in her body. I move forward and scoop her up. I am struck by how big she is, how her body pours out of my lap. She is hot and still wound tight. I begin to rock her. She finally blurts out "I don't know what I am feeling! I don't know what it is that I am feeling!" That is the break through. I know very well she doesn't know what she is feeling... or why. How could any little child begin to process emotions that rage so heavily inside? I know it is not time to press her to explore her emotional battlefield. It is still too raw.  I just hold her and rock her. I remind her that it is okay to feel. I acknowledge that sometimes feelings can be scary. I remind her that she can always talk to me... about anything... even if she doesn't know what to say...or has nothing to say.  After I say it, I realize it doesn't make any sense but she knows I am trying to reassure her. She knows I don't make sense a lot of the time. She is okay with my imperfections.

Eventually, we make an agreement to work on pulling through it for the rest of the evening. We agree to make our plan be "to have some fun."  She is subdued in the back seat on the drive over, wringing her hands, her jaw set tightly. I am worried as it takes longer to find a parking space than anticipated. She sees a playground and says she wants to go. Oh no. This is what started it all. I remind her that we are here for the concert not the playground. I look back it her through the mirror and hold my breath, waiting for her reply. After a moment, she looks up and says "okay. maybe later." I know that we will be okay again. I look at my little family and I am overwhelmed by my good fortune. I have everything I need right in that moment, inside the car. 

We have a great evening. She acts like a kid and I notice the tension, although still there, has begun it's release. I find that I have relaxed too.