The town of Duchesne (pronounced due-shayne) was what our school referred to as the armpit of the earth. This small town was the one nearest to my rural town of Altamont, so naturally our school sports teams were bitter rivals.
When your class of 32 plays sports together through junior and high school, you find yourself playing against the same kids, season after season. The guy I was matched up with was called “Purple.” I’m sure he had a name, but that’s what everyone referred to him as. We hit and tackled each other for three years of high school football and we guarded each other in some of the most intense games of my moderately successful basketball career. The matchup on the court during my senior year, however, turned out to be the most memorable.
Though we were the visiting team, our hometown crowd filled the stands. Everyone in our community made this rivalry game a priority. The lead went back and forth, punctuated with a lot of trash talk, between the two teams. But in the end the Altamont Longhorns pulled ahead to victory. We were elated. We tumbled into the locker room for some hard won back slapping and bragging.
When we had showered and dressed, we headed back across the court to leave. A few fans were still hanging around visiting, as well as the entire Duchesne team. Which was odd. We continued to walk past them with the typical “good game” salutation.
When I got to Purple he said “You guys think you’re pretty tough don’t you?” With my duffle in one hand and my uniform on a hanger in the other, I pointed to the scoreboard and said “That’s what it says.”
With that he took a swing, I ducked and dropped my bag, then grabbed him and threw him to the ground at midcourt. But, before I could do anything Purple and I were both flat on the floor on our stomachs with both teams piling on top of us. I couldn’t move, much less do any damage. As quickly as it had started, I suddenly felt myself get yanked out of the pile and held from behind. With the adrenaline pumping I started to throw elbows and punch over the top of my head to get at whoever had me.
“Calm down Tim. Just calm down.” said a firm voice. It was my teammate’s dad. A gentle, 6’4”, 280 pound farmer. As he restrained me, I looked around to see that fights had broken out all over the gym and that his own son was being held back by someone else’s dad. Simultaneously the adults had stepped in to stop the hormone riddled youth before they could do something dangerous or that they would soon regret. These men wisely ushered us out and onto the bus where we resumed our revelries all the way home.
That night I was oblivious. But as I look back over the decades, it’s become apparent that my home team extended far beyond the teammates on the court. It included the men and women from my community who had a vested interest in us as “their” youth. They didn’t wait to be asked. They didn’t excuse themselves from responsibility. The community’s value of non-violence and living a higher law shone through.
Today, the incidents of home team members stepping up and reaching out are shared with me weekly as I work with the families of teens and young adults. I’ll admit that I’m a softy now and tear up easily; and the topic that gets me every time is the unexpected loyalty, sacrifice and love shown for young people outside of their immediate family.
– Tim Thayne
Tim Thayne is a marriage and family therapist and the blessed father of five teens and young adults. Though the kids never took up his affinity for basketball, (or a good post-game rumble) as a family they do enjoy mountain biking, traveling to personally significant locations around the world and telling stories about the good old days.
It was a Wednesday morning. Nothing unusual. My husband was at work, my kids were at school, and I was at my dining room table working on my laptop when my phone rang.
“Hi, Jill. This is Anne. Are you home?”
“Yep.”
“Can I stop by?”
I didn’t know Anne well. She and I attended the same church, and her two teenage sons came to the early morning scripture class I taught. I assumed that’s what Anne’s visit was about. I went back to work, and a few minutes later, through the window, I saw Anne approaching my door. I opened it before she could ring the bell.
“Oh!” She stepped back, clearly surprised. “Hi.”
“Hi, Anne. What’s up?”
“I, uh…” She thrust a bouquet of flowers at me. “I brought you these.”
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
“Oh!” I said. “How nice!”
She shuffled her feet and seemed to have a hard time looking directly at me.
“I, uh, I’vebeen thinking of you lately, and I kept thinking I ought to bring you flowers, but I didn’t. But the feeling wouldn’t go away, so today I just did it.”
She blushed and pushed the flowers at me again. “So, here.”
I took them. “Thanks.”
“They’re not much, but whatever. Sorry.”
With that, she was gone, practically running back to her minivan. I found a vase for the flowers and set them next to my laptop. They were simple, the kind sold at any grocery store, but they were cheerful, and they looked beautiful. A few times that morning, I paused and thought about how sweet Anne was, but really, I didn’t give them much thought beyond that.
Until, about two hours later, when my phone rang again. This time, I looked at the caller, and my heart stopped. It was my surgeon, who just a week before had removed the suspicious lymph node under my arm.
“Hi, Jill,” she said. I didn’t like her somber tone. “Your biopsy came back.”
“Okay…”
“It’s positive. Metastatic melanoma. I’m so sorry.”
She went on to explain that the cancer I’d fought twelve years ago had reappeared, spreading through my lymphatic system and probably growing in other places throughout my body. That I needed more tests, a specialized oncologist, and aggressive treatment. My life as I knew it was about to change—maybe forever. And through it all, I stared at a bunch of flowers, brought to me by a woman who thought she was super lame to do so.
A wise person, Camilla Kimball, once said, “Never suppress a generous thought.” Or, in the words of my equally wise friend Rose Marie, “sometimes it’s scary to reach out. do it anyway. you can throw up later.”
I don’t know if Anne threw up. Maybe. It’s possible. But during the worst ten minutes of my life, her flowers reminded me I wasn’t alone.
– Jill Bitner
Jill Bitner loves reading, writing, and crushing everyone in word games. She has four children and lives with her dreamy husband under the big Texas sky.
Ours is an age of contradictions. Where solitude used to feel like a rare luxury . . . it has recently begun to feel lonely.
With months of forced separation, hugs, handshakes and even bright smiles feel like a thing of the past. I so long for the days when I could let my personality and natural tendencies to touch communicate my acceptance or love for someone.
Today when I think back on meaningful touches from others, I realize that though none of these folks were professionally trained in the healing arts, I found that our physical connection had a way of seeping into my body in deep and satisfying ways.
They were the givers and I was the grateful receiver. This collection of moments is simple, yet the contact was punctuated by the emotional impression they left behind.
COMPANIONSHIP: There is a comfort and warmth found with a puppy’s head resting on my thigh, even as I’m forced to type with my laptop balanced on the other thigh. I sit contentedly in this awkward workspace—long past the time I was productive—because we’ve created a mutual sense of protection and belonging.
TRUST: As a mother, the reach of my fussing baby, who would immediately calm and relax into my arms, was considered a bonus for those bleary-eyed late nights. With their head on my shoulder and a slight bounce in my walk, my touch turned out to be the prescribed remedy for nightmares, separation anxiety, and countless other ills.
ENCOURAGEMENT: While sitting in church, whether I am touched by a thought or overwhelmed with my life, I will regularly feel a tap on my shoulder and see a clean, white tissue being passed up to me to catch my brimming tears. This generous friend is quick to see a need and fill it. From the pew behind, I have been quietly handed cough drops, gum, and even Wifi passwords.
HEALING: As a teenager, when I’d return from another interminable swing shift of waiting tables at the coffee shop, I’d count up my tips as my father would watch the news and rub my aching feet. That act of service both loosened the tired muscles and conveyed his appreciation for my hard work and progress into adulthood.
ATTRACTION: I was still unsure of where our regular dates were taking us, but during a slow song at the university’s homecoming dance, I held my breath as my cheek came in contact with his cheek. Neither of us pulled away. That moment was electric and has never been forgotten. It sparked a romance of 30 years and counting.
RELAXATION: After the eight-hour road trip to Grandma’s house, we kids would tumble out of the car door fighting and bursting with pent-up energy. The most anticipated moment of our visit was bedtime, when we’d stretch out on the trundle bed and—in the dim glow of Grandpa’s desk lamp—Grandma would speak in whispers and gently rub the kinks out of our bare backs. We loved her scratchy- smooth hands, dry as sandpaper from years of dedicated work in her garden and kitchen.
ACCEPTANCE: Handshakes may seem rather obligatory, but historically and in my own experience, this familiar gesture is a universal signal of acknowledgement and approval. The act of bridging the physical span between us has repeatedly warmed me up in meeting someone that I initially felt intimidated or put off by. A firm clasp of my hand helps my subconscious respond with “Well now . . . they aren’t so bad after all.”
CELEBRATION: To celebrate good news alone isn’t satisfying. The first time I had an article published in a magazine I had to share it or I felt I would burst. With a flushed face, I interrupted an important call my husband was on. And bless him, he didn’t disappoint. He gave me a loud whoop and a double high five. A thumbs up or word of congratulation just wouldn’t have packed the same punch.
UNDERSTANDING: You know those moments when something is said, and the person seated next to you presses their knee or elbow into yours? It’s a physical connection that can be translated into “I know what you’re thinking.” Or perhaps “Can you believe it?” A touch is worth a thousand words when you can’t say anything out loud.
WELCOME: Remember the last time you went for a handshake, but were instead pulled into an enthusiastic embrace? It can be startling at first, but another’s delight can be so fun. Whether it’s on a first meeting or it’s been a long day since you’ve come face-to-face, a hug physically says “You’re home.”
COMFORT: Sitting beside my mother’s hospital bed two days before she passed, she expressed that she didn’t want to leave us. I reassured her that we would be fine. She began to cry, and then I simply lost it. I buried my head into her side and cried big hot tears. With the little strength she had left, she lifted her hand and gently brushed my hair back from my face. It was the most familiar and comforting gesture this fifty-year-old daughter could have asked for in a farewell touch from her mother.
– Roxanne Thayne
Known as a bright-idea-factory, Roxanne sparkles when she connects with others over mothering, ministering, and marketing. Learn more about how she helps readers design beautiful, faith-filled lives on Instagram @roxannethayne.
Afternoon sunlight poured into my window as I heard the familiar opening of the front door. Feet shuffled across the travertine entryway and backpacks were quickly discarded in exchange for an anticipated afternoon snack.
I was busy working in the other room and called over my shoulder, “Hey guys, how was your day?” The responses from my sons were less than enthusiastic. A few grunts and a “fine” escaped their lips before the pantry was ransacked and they were off again.
There I remained, exactly as I was minutes before—still working, still in the other room. Still.
In that stillness a thought trickled through my mind: “I didn’t even look at them.” Those boys that I loved more than sleeping, eating and breathing and certainly more than my work, had come and gone without even a glance from me.
I started to think back on days, weeks and months. How often was I guilty of this disconnect? In a moment of embracing honesty, I had to admit this scenario happened far too often. How had I become so accustomed to distracted greetings? What would happen if I was facing them when they walked in the front door? What if I found their eyes with my eyes? What if they really thought I wanted to know about their day? That was the day I set my work aside. That was the day I decided to be still for them.
The next afternoon I quietly nestled into the coziest corner of my brown leather couch. The one facing the front door. No book in hand, no laundry pile, no work in front of me. Just me, on the couch—waiting. A feeling of anticipation crept into my heart. Then I heard the doorknob turn, their shuffling feet and the backpacks pile up.
I found their eyes and theirs found mine. There was something instinctive about the way they meandered over to the couch and plopped down. As if me sitting there, looking at them was a simple invitation to connect. It felt safe. I wasn’t doing anything or going anywhere. I was sitting there for them.
Many moments have passed since that day. That corner of my brown leather couch invites them…still.
– Heather Griffin
Heather Griffin lives nestled in the beautiful Rocky Mountains. She is captivated by God’s majestic creations . . . juicy summer peaches, hiking through crisp fall leaves and skiing the sun-kissed snow slopes with her husband and sons.
I had the pleasure of counseling a bright teen, long enough to see her grow into a confident and compassionate young adult. Through the years, we’ve spoken daily during difficult times, and had phases when contact has stretched to once a month or more.
On each call, this young woman would bring her intelligent and reflective demeanor to the table. I always enjoyed speaking with her. However, each time she called, I knew it meant that she was in pain—struggling to cope with life’s disappointments and heartaches, or struggling with her anxiety and depression.
One afternoon when my phone rang and I saw her number pop up on my screen, I felt a pang of worry. Primarily because it was not the typical time of day that she would call me and I wondered if this meant she’d hit a particularly difficult snag. When I answered, I was surprised by how upbeat she sounded. “I was thinking about something today,” she told me. “I realized I only ever call you with bad news or when I’m sad. So today I thought I’d call to let you know I was accepted into a production I tried out for and I’m really excited about it. I’m feeling really happy right now and I wanted to tell you that.”
Once I processed what she was saying, I almost laughed out loud at the unexpectedness of it. It was interesting how hearing that bit of good news affected me, and how grateful I was that she thought to share it with me.
It’s easy for all of us to dwell in the realm of problem-solving. In our personal and work lives, sometimes the easiest thing to do is find a problem to focus on or a problem to fix. There are times when that focus can overtake our perception and minimize the successful moments we experience, missing what they mean to our overall progress.
Some have told me they worry that sharing good news will come across as bragging. Some worry that sharing hope and success will make people extra disappointed the next time there is a challenge, relapse, or mistake. Some have even told me they don’t want to give others, or themselves, what they see as “false hope” that everything is or will be okay, because of one moment of positivity.
They worry about being naive or about being too optimistic. And admittedly, these are thinking traps I have fallen into myself.
In reality, it is essential that we communicate the positive moments in our lives as much as we do the negative. How do we see each other as people, fulfill our potential, or connect in a genuine fashion when we are only sharing selective parts of ourselves?
These positive moments connect us, pull us together, and sustain us through challenges. To celebrate and recognize them is an essential part of our growth, and vital to our relationships.
There is nothing wrong with identifying low points and difficulties, nor in seeking support in times of challenge. However, it is when we choose to broaden what we share and include our successes that we see our world more honestly.
During my conversation with this young woman, we both knew that there would still be sad and difficult times to navigate in the future—that’s part of life—but we also knew there would be continued growth, maturity, and joy as well. The gratitude I felt that she could share both her pain and her success with me deepened the trust between us.
Trusting someone with our success or hope then becomes as important as trusting them with a problem or challenge. It invites us all to see more of what we might otherwise miss out on in our shared journeys.
Turns out, a little good news can carry us a long way.
– Kelly Olson
Kelly Olson is a Social Worker and Transition Coach specializing in family systems and education. She has worked with families in various capacities before, during, and after their treatment experience for over 20 years. She’s an avid reader and loves the backcountry.
Service sometimes gets a bad rap. It’s what we get assigned to do when we miss a class or if we get in trouble. At times it is used as a punishment instead of an opportunity.
Unfortunately, because of this, many miss the joy of meaningful service. Through service we discover unique things about ourselves and frequently, it’s our own life that is changed rather than the intended service recipient.
The reciprocity of service is a unique side effect, one with powerful healing qualities. Families who serve together discover that they receive more than they give. Family members who are feeling inadequate or are struggling often find a renewed sense of purpose. They discover value they didn’t know they had. Many times lessons that parents are trying to teach their kids are naturally taught through experience as they serve alongside each other.
For several years, my family has helped in food preparation for a cancer camp for kids and teens learning to do adaptive skiing. Each year we provide breakfast and dinner for the camp, keeping costs minimal for them and allowing the camp to bring in more participants for the week. Many of these kids have had arms or legs amputated because of cancer or cancer treatments. Some have lost vision or hearing and need adaptive ski instruction and equipment to learn to ski. Many come from inner city Chicago and because of the changes that have taken place in their lives, their self-esteem and confidence are low.
When you lose an arm or leg, it is easy to feel your life is over. Each year my kids learn valuable lessons serving here without us saying a word. They watch the kids arrive and see the challenges cancer can inflict on bodies. As the week progresses, these individuals who have lost hope in playing the sports they love, find ways to be athletic again through the guidance of adaptive ski instructors.
One particular year a fifteen-year-old girl shared her story of losing her leg and how she thought her life was over. She had resigned herself to an inactive life and felt lost without her leg. However, after several years of attending the camp, she developed courage she did not know she had and with some adaptations, she found she could enjoy sports again.
During the closing banquet that year, she shared an experience she had with a small group of skiers determined to hike to a beautiful bowl of undisturbed powder. They had hiked for several hours which included taking her prosthetic leg off, carrying her skis and poles on her back and with crutches ambling slowly up the slope. When they got to the top, the conditions could not have been more ideal. After all the work and effort to get there, they were rewarded with a beautiful afternoon of skiing. She was teary as she shared this experience of progress and strength. She had never guessed that when cancer struck and she had lost her leg that she would one day summit and ski a beautiful mountain in Utah.
The next year we returned as a family to serve. We were heartbroken as we did not see this particular camper. Usually, we do not ask much because we know that sometimes cancer is terminal and life is fragile. However, at the closing banquet, we learned that another group had gone to the mountain summit to find the beautiful bowl again, but this time the purpose was different. Some of the camp counselors had been given the ashes of this particular girl. As per her and her parents request, she had asked that when she died that her ashes be spread across that bowl. She said it “was the last place she felt on top of the world” and it was the perfect resting place for her body.
The lessons that my kids learned from this experience were not given through words but powerful interactions. At times, each of my family members have struggled with feelings of self-worth and inadequacy. As parents, we have discovered an amazing tool: Service fills holes in the lives of the receiver and the giver.
The reciprocity of service is a beautiful gift that heals hearts and allows sermons to be taught that penetrate the soul.
– Amy Dott Harmer
Amy Dott Harmer serves currently as the executive director of a refugee service organization. Amy and her husband have four amazing children. She is an avid mountain biker and hiker and enjoys spending time in the Wasatch Mountains. You can follow Amy on Instagram and Facebook or for ways to serve refugees go to Serve Refugees on Facebook and Instagram.
While I’m not overly expressive about it, my kids are always on my mind. Similarly, even though I’m over 50 years old, my mother still likes to know how I am doing and where I am.
Being a parent doesn’t go away when our children reach 18 years-old; it’s a lifetime calling. A few years ago, I took my kids with me on a team-building retreat for a women’s college basketball team. The setting was mountain biking in Moab, Utah. The trails in Moab are considered world-class and world-class trails come with obstacles and risk. The experience is life-changing, but one wrong move could result in a trip to the hospital.
Professionally speaking, I have used experiential educational models safely for years with other people’s children, but when it comes to my own children, I tend to be overprotective.
About four miles into our trail ride, we came to an obstacle where I stopped the group. I took the time to teach some advanced mountain biking skills, showed them how to ride through the obstacle successfully and invited anybody that wanted to walk their bike instead of riding it to do so. This group was a division one, women’s college basketball team. Their level of self-drive and competition was high. None of them walked their bikes.
One by one, I would stand there and coach them through the obstacle. “OK, keep your eyes up. Feel the bike flow under you—pedals parallel to the ground. Butts back, light pressure on both brakes. You got this!”
Several of them didn’t make it the first try and would return back up the hill to try it again. In some cases, a third and even fourth try was necessary. At one point, the first-aid kit came out to bandage up a skinned knee and elbow. These college athletes were laughing and loving the experience. Years later, they still talk about it.
And then, it was my daughter’s turn. She was much younger and I tried to invite her to walk her bike. She wasn’t having it as she wanted to try it too. My heart skipped a beat. I quietly tried to reason with her.
And then, as a father, I was taught a lesson. My daughter looked at me and said, “why don’t you believe in me?” Something inside of me said, “She’s right, it’s not like she is going to ride off a cliff or something.”
I stepped back. And, I went from a protective father who didn’t believe his daughter could work through a challenge to a coaching father who treated her just like I did the other college athletes. Three tries and a bandage later, she mastered the obstacle resulting in high-fives and cheers from the whole group!
This simple experience changed my perspective on parenting. Doing things for my kids, being overprotective, etc. is sending them a message that they can’t do things, when in reality our kids are resilient and will rise to the level of expectation and coaching that is put upon them. The bottom line is coaching and teaching work. Being overprotective doesn’t.
To this day, I stay up at night until the kids are home. I still check-in with my adult children regularly, just like my mom continues to check in with me.
But I’ve learned that I must believe in my kids and never send an accidental message that I don’t believe in them just because of my own fear. Never again will I have my kids feel like I don’t believe in them. Unless of course, they are about to go off a cliff.
– Randy Oakley
Randy Oakley and his wife Lara have six children. Randy is the founder of treatment programs for youth and young adults.
As the block of spiral-bound, photo-copied papers was placed in my hands I stammered “My word Julie. How did you do it?” I shook my head at my aunt, now in her 70’s. I had always known she was highly intelligent and a hard worker, but the thought of compiling such a massive history of our ancestors was simply mind boggling.
When she left, I began flipping through the pages, starting in the middle of the book. The sections were organized chronologically by generation, and I wanted to start with a generation that I knew personally.
These were the folks I had sat with in lawn chairs in front of our family’s Chevrolet dealership— the second oldest in Arizona—as we watched the parades roll by. They were the relatives that I could pick out in photographs as the one with the Downs Syndrome daughter, or the one who always wore gold lamé slippers. Or the WWII pilot who loved to tease the little kids and swore a lot. Or the veterinarian who had as good a collection of animal stories as James Herriot. Or the aunt who kept a mesmerizing back bedroom full of dolls. As she’d let us hold them, we’d ask her to tell us about the time she had gone off to Hollywood to become a star.
At the top of each story-filled page was a genealogical timeline, showing how the characters in this story were related to us:
As I read I couldn’t contain myself. I’d call out to my children “Hey, you guys! Listen to this. Remember how I told you that your great-great-grandpa was a rancher? Well here’s the story of how he accidentally bought a whole herd of Herefords without knowing he had, until the auction attendees started to congratulate him.” We’d chuckle and inspect the photos of this big character in a cowboy hat, walking with two canes to support his bulk and ease his arthritis.
If I could catch one of my teens at the right time, they would listen to story after story. I too could get lost for an hour at a time, not able to tear myself away from the drama, the fun, or the spirit of those stories.
What I didn’t realize was that the stories of my ancestors weren’t just entertainment. As the years went by, I found pieces of them coming back to me when I needed them for strength or normalization. These stories weren’t about strangers in funny, old fashioned clothes, set in a time and place that had no relation to ours. They were stories with themes that mirrored our own lives and times:
- An unplanned pregnancy
- A relative leaving the family business after an argument
- A life ending before its time
- A painful divorce that ripples through the children still
- An addiction that hurt and embarrassed an individual and their family
- A world-class vocal talent that was set aside for the joy of home and family
- A community that came together during the spanish influenza
- A love story that started in grade school and ended in their 90’s
If their stories sounded like our stories, then our triumphs will eventually look like theirs. Their grit and reliance on grace isn’t so very different from our own.
What a comfort to see a life in chapters. Perhaps this difficult chapter in our lives, is just that, a chapter. It is definitely NOT our entire story.
– Roxanne Thayne
Roxanne Thayne fills her days with mothering, ministering, and marketing. She’s attracted to sparkly things like chandeliers, jewelry, and conversation. Read more on her “Spark ‘n Sway” blog at www.roxannethayne.com.
Fire drills. From preschool through high school, at least once a year, a fire drill broke the monotony of class—the anguish of a test for which I was ill-prepared, or the pleasure of a casual conversation with a good friend. Fortunately, schools made sure these drills were on sunny days and, unfortunately, never during final exams.
When the “all clear” bell indicated that it was safe to return to the classroom, we entered the building as our teacher patted our heads, counted us off, and told us to return to our seats. We were excited about what came next—a visit from Sparky the Fire Dog. Sparky was a Dalmatian that accompanied the fire chief around the school and, while Sparky’s energy (and rapidly wagging tail) channeled our focus, the fire chief’s deep voice resonated through the classrooms: “In case of fire, STOP, DROP, and ROLL.”
When we recited the words back to him in a manner that convinced him we were listening, the chief gave each of us a bright, shiny, red plastic firefighter’s hat. As honorary firefighters, he commissioned us to tell others: “In case of fire: STOP, DROP, and ROLL.” Fortunately, I never had to. Or did I?
Twenty-five years later, the tension, pain, and conflict in our family created anguish at a level for which I was ill-prepared. I found myself parenting in situations I never thought would enter the pages of my story and longed for the monotony of a “boring” day and the pleasure of a casual conversation with a good friend. The rainy days followed the sunny days and, sadly, we knew what came next.
On these days, parenting and self-help books scattered across the flat surfaces in my house served better as kindling for the consuming stress and fear of what would be left when the dust of the most recent test settled. My family was “on fire” and I choked on the smoke no one else could see. Repeatedly, I longed to hear the ring of a bell indicating it was “all clear” to go back into my home. One day, while on the porch searching for hope, the bright red fire hydrant in our front yard cued the distant memory of a shiny, plastic firefighter’s hat and the commission that accompanied it: “In case of fire: STOP, DROP, and ROLL.” (Amazing I could remember something from years earlier while having no idea where I put my car keys, wallet, or sanity.)
I was gasping for air and wondered how long I had been holding my breath. I did that often. It was time to get back to the basics and focus on what the average person does at least 17,000 times a day—
Inhale…Exhale…Repeat.
Simple, Safe, and Satisfying.
STOP holding my breath.
DROP what I am doing
And BREATHE.
In case of fire: STOP, DROP, and BREATHE.
– Allison Posell
Allison Posell is a voracious learner who discovers the world and people in it by asking questions, seeking and offering perspective, and sharing the dust on the road of life! Visit her on Facebook (Allison Hamill Posell) or Instagram (@mommypo).
Think about a machine. What does it do? How does it perform efficiently? How is it assembled? Every machine is a little different with all the moving parts, but the one thing all machines have in common is that they all need grease to work properly or there’s potential for a lot of friction.
Grease keeps a machine running, just like trust keeps a relationship running. When a relationship has mutual trust, communication is easier; everything is easier and amazing things can happen. Without trust, a relationship is like a wheel without grease—it doesn’t work. Trust plays a fundamental role in every relationship.
Although trust is easy to break and difficult to get back once it’s broken, with time and effort it is possible to become realigned and create a relationship that is stronger than ever.
Here are a few practical tools and ideas for you to rebuild trust with your teen.
Consider Initiating the Trust
A lot of times, teens are in a position where they’re not confident enough or don’t have a strong desire to build trust. In this case, you as a parent will have to be the one to initiate it. Begin by evaluating your own shortcomings and start to repair the trust from your end. Identify your own choices and recognize that you might not be quite where you need to be for your teen to really trust you. Then, make a list with your co-parent about what is possibly tearing apart your relationship with your teen. Once you’ve done this, be straightforward and sincere in your proposal to rebuild the trust with your child.
Help Your Teen Understand Why Trust is Important
It’s powerful to let your teen know that the lack of trust between you has brought your relationship to a halt, just like a wheel would without grease. If you don’t do what you need to do to repair it, the components of the relationship are in serious danger of permanent damage. Find a good time to have this conversation and let them know of your sincere desire to strengthen your relationship. When they can see that you’re working to do your part and there is mutual understanding, it’ll be easier for them to open themselves up and build mutual trust again.
Don’t Force It
Trust is mutual—if one side isn’t ready to fully trust again, you can’t force it on them and make it happen right away. When you have the conversation, let your teen know that you don’t expect an answer right away and give them time to think about things. Their side of the story is just as valid as yours, so take the time to hear them out and understand where they’re coming from.
These initial steps are crucial when it comes to rebuilding trust with your teen, and following through with your commitment to change will be an important element as well. Think about the meaningful relationships in your life and think about what you can do to improve them—trust is a powerful thing, so go ahead and harness it.
If you would like to hear more about this topic, you can listen to the Not by Chance Podcast episode “Trust in a Relationship is Like Grease in a Wheel” with Dr. Tim Thayne on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.