Psychoanalyzing myself

I cried on the playground today. No, I did not travel back in time. This was 40-year-old me crying on the playground. I'll admit it was not even the first time this year.

The kids and their friends were playing after school and got into some sort of scuffle. C needed space to cool off, and he very clearly (and loudly) communicated this to his buddies while holed up under a wooden pirate ship. One of his dear, tiny little friends refused to leave his side and give him that requested space. She's normally pretty intuitive about letting him dance to the beat of his own drum, but for some reason she dug in her heels today and refused to leave. This made C very angry. He kept repeating, "I need space!" I tried to gently explain to his friend that it would be best if we moved to another area of the playground. The other parents came over to help after a minute. These adults are good friends I've grown to know through school pick-ups and playdates. They are kind and supportive, and I trust them.

We soothed and separated the children as a team, and there was some gentle scolding ("Don't throw that!" "Be kind!" "Who's job is it to worry about X?"), light bribery, and other semi-effective tactics in an attempt to get the kids on their respective ways home. Amidst the pandemonium, I started to worry that the other parents were upset with my child for his outburst. All evidence points to the contrary, but my insecurity rears its ugly head when I'm worried about my children. I started to tear up. The other parents thought I was concerned about my son and tried to comfort me, but in fact I was worried about their reactions to him and to me.

My beloved therapist passed away last year, but I still try to channel her wisdom. She was a psychoanalyst, the first I've ever worked with, and I found it fascinating when she would ask me what I thought triggered a certain reaction, or what from my past could influence my current response.

Why was I crying? It seems to me it was less about my child, and more about how I could not control the perceptions or reactions of the other adults. I want my children to be loved and embraced by their community. I want to be loved and embraced by our community. All evidence suggests that we are, so why am I worried? Is this an abandonment or insecure attachment thing? I feel like there's some shame in there, too. And it's me who is bringing all of this to the table. The kids are still friends and my children are currently delighting in an afternoon of screen-time as they head into winter break.

I'm trying to sit with my discomfort and remind myself that my strong response is rooted in something that predates the after school friendships that exist between the children and also between the adults. Healthy people don't abandon their friends because their 6-year-olds had a brief standoff on the playground.

I'm tired, and I think I have a slight fever. The kids were home for most of the week, and while I am able to regulate far better than my son when I am ill, I know it still takes a toll on my ability to put things in perspective. And now my dog is stealing the cough drops off my nightstand. I need to rest and reflect.