Practicing gratitude with kids*
*The reality!
The first time I asked my then 7 year old what he was grateful for he looked me in the eyes for an intense 9 or 10 seconds, then just when I was going to re-word my question in case he hadn't understood it, he said (never breaking eye contact) 'you're a poo, you're a poo, you're a poo!'
It was bedtime and I'd just had a joyful tear-jerk moment with his older brother who when asked the same question had listed out thoughtful things he had appreciated or felt thankful for that day. It was a lovely moment. I felt I was succeeding in integrating mindfulness into family life, raising my boys to be well-rounded humans. I made the mistake of assuming I'd get a similar experience with his little brother. How wrong I was.
When I was called a 'poo' three times with a cold, hard gaze, I felt a change come over my body and mind; I was switching into my stress, fight/flight mode because I felt threatened, I felt the situation I was in was not particularly nice. I didn't know how to respond. But then I witnessed the change happening, I observed and acknowledged the emotions rising up in me, that internal voice (I'll show him – I'll tell him off for talking to me like that, why did he have to react like that? Why does everything have to be so difficult...) and I actually laughed. Let's face it, it was a pretty hilarious situation. After a few moments, he laughed. I told him I loved him, gave him a cuddle and wished him a good night's sleep and sweet dreams, and left the room still smiling about how unpredictable life is, how fascinating children are, how unique.
It took me a few more minutes to reflect and realise that what I'd said had put him into his stress, fight/flight response; I had asked him a really tricky, unfamiliar question and put him on the spot when he was tired and caught off guard. I hadn't met him where he was; I had walked in with my own agenda which wasn't really about him and his journey of practicing gratitude but about me ticking off my list that I'd sewn a seed that day for being mindful and thankful, knowing the vast health and wellbeing benefits this brings (reduces our stress response, increases emotional regulation, compassion and empathy).
Over the next few days, I tried setting the scene in softer, more accessible ways to introduce the concept of appreciation and ending our day by consciously acknowledging the positives we've experienced. I tried bringing it up at other times during the day, but he shut it down immediately. 'Oh no!' My internal critic shouted - 'I've broken him, he won't ever be thankful for anything!' After a few weeks I asked him that same question at bedtime and he didn't call me a poo. He did give me the same intense stare that only young children with fierce self-assurance and no awareness of social parameters of appropriate length of eye contact can give. But then he surprised me. He said, 'What do you feel grateful for today?'
I got a lump in my throat. Another lesson that me 7 year old was teaching me. I hadn't modelled what I was asking him to do. I answered, choosing relatable examples that wouldn't alienate him (seeing our friends this morning, that you helped by tidying the craft things away, that I noticed a new flower in the garden...) and he listened. I didn't ask him again. Things had shifted; I was the student and he was the teacher. And that stare was a bit terrifying.
This continued for a week or 2; him asking me or me volunteering at bedtime what I had appreciated that day, giving a range of little or sometimes big examples. I referenced people in his life that he loves (I thought it was so kind that Nanny and Grandad took you and your brother out today...that your friend invited you to their party...that I had a walk along the beach today as the sun was coming up...). Then one evening he added something after I shared mine. He sounded unsure; there was a questioning tone in his voice. 'That's such a good one, I'm so glad you reminded me about that!' I replied, reassuring him it was okay to be grateful for whatever he had appreciated. His was food related and soon led to him asking what was for breakfast the next morning, but it felt so meaningful. I suggested he could always think of more inside his mind; he didn't need to say them out loud to me.
Now 2 years on, it is still unpredictable what answer I'll get when we talk about gratitude before I say night night. A lot of the time his answers are still food related (!) And some nights I forget to ask or I get a pang of annoyance when he says 'nothing'. But then I'll remind myself that gratitude is a practice that begins again each day, that the magic of life and being human is that I can ask the same questions a hundred times and get a different response, always with the opportunity to learn something new. I've also noticed he demonstrates and verbalises gratitude more throughout life generally and in different contexts; that seed of being thankful we planted has been quietly growing roots beneath the surface, and they'll only get bigger, stronger, grow further.
And if it's been a difficult day and we're both tired, I'll say something like 'I just feel grateful for being with you right now – and that cuddle you just gave me was one of my favourite moments today'. And that will always be true; that will always be something I feel grateful for that isn't forced or learnt or practiced. Something that can simply be acknowledged, so long as we take a moment, create the space, to let that happen.
Emma x
P.S. If you’d like to bring some gratitude into your life (knowing it does wonders for your health and wellbeing) but you don’t know where to start, how about picking 1 thing each night for a week, then 2, then 3. The things you acknowledge appreciation for can be anything; your morning tea or coffee, the sun rising, the breath rising and falling in your body, the neighbour who smiled, the sound of the wind moving the leaves…a place, a person, or a moment of contentment you felt. There’s no special feeling required; you’re simply planting that seed, cultivating that feeling of being thankful.