A tale of two driveways

It’s Monday morning. I walk our youngest to school and give him an extra hug. It’s finally in the 50s so I decide to walk some extra loops around the neighborhood before continuing on with my day.

I’m listening to a dear friend’s Marco Polo video message on my phone when I hear a cry. I pause my app and slow my steps.

“We’re going to be LATE because of YOU!” A mom in her PJ’s drags her six or seven-year-old to their big black SUV.

Tears immediately sting my eyes. My nervous system is so deeply empathic to people’s pain sometimes. I send a deep breath of love to that young boy who is starting his Monday morning with screaming and dysregulation. He’s hearing a voice of shame and anger from one of his primary caregivers.

Part of me feels silly for standing a block or two away with tears on my cheeks. I don’t know these people. I don’t know their story and what else that mom is holding today.

All I know is that my system is responding to his pain and discomfort. I hate that he got yelled at so harshly.

My body cries for about 45 seconds and then I take a deep breath. Tears subside. I look around at my favorite tree and a squirrel nearby. Grounding myself in the current moment. I’m learning how to allow the empathic pain to move through me without allowing it to attach to my story. By the time I round the next corner, I can feel my system shift out of fight or flight and into ventral. Rest and digest. No threats, just presence.

I turn my video app on and listen to the next part of my friend’s message. Within a minute or two, I hear a giggle and a shriek.

Pressing pause, I listen again and look up.

I see a four or five-year-old holding a big Maui hook from the Moana movie and he’s grinning at his mom in the driveway. She’s helping him get into the car and it’s clear he’d rather play with his toy. She’s teasing him and playfully chatting as she invites him to his seat in the their SUV. She says something and he runs to the car and hops in.

What a stark difference in Monday morning energy in one neighborhood.

One of shame.
One of playfulness.

I know life gets hard and we feel overwhelmed. We take it out on each other at times. But the work we do to be curious about our patterns really does make a difference for those around us.

We can become people of play, not shame.

Here’s to the meaningful relationships you get to be a part of in this season. May you feel resourced when anger and shame swirl. May you grant yourself compassion and curiosity as you navigate challenging emotions. May your people know your love for them.

Much love,
Jenny