I Tried Rooting for Her

It was late afternoon. He was probably tired, maybe even hungry. She was probably stressed. There were people around. They were watching, staring, judging.

I wasn’t far. I had a clear view. I wanted to have compassion, empathy, understanding. I didn’t know their situation. I didn’t have context. I didn’t want to judge, but it was hard.

I kept trying to put myself in her situation. What would I have done with a toddler who was melting down on a subway, many stops from my final destination? How would I have communicated with a child that didn’t know how to express their frustration through anything but tears? Would I have remained quiet, and silently suffered with my kid? Would I have tried to console my child outside the confines of her stroller?

I wanted to be on the mom’s side, I really did.

But then she hit him. Not hard or malicious. There was no intent to harm. But she hit him several times nonetheless. It obviously didn’t have the intended purpose, because the crying didn’t stop and the meltdown didn’t end. Her yelling had no affect, as her pleas to “use your words” were rebuffed with tears and screams. It was obvious her already waning patience was about to be lost. But what did she expect?

I wanted to have compassion. I didn’t want to be one of those parents who silently judge other parents. I mean, we’re all in this struggle together, right?

I saw moments of hope when she stroked his head and her voice softened as she tried to soothe him to sleep. She tried explaining the situation as calmly as she could. But then she raised her open hand as a threat, and followed through with that threat. And I stopped having compassion for her.

Maybe I gave up on her too quick. Maybe I was a judgmental asshole. I didn’t know her situation, or what kind of resources and support she had (or lack thereof). I didn’t now how she was raised, or what kind examples were set by the adults in her life. But I knew that her child was in distress. I knew that her child could not express himself because he didn’t know how. I knew that her hitting his thighs and raising her voice, did nothing but confuse and frustrate him even more. And I knew I wasn’t the only uncomfortable passenger on that train.

I understand that everyone deals with stress differently, and raising a kid makes ordinary situations even more stressful. I personally lost it with Isabel at least once, but luckily that was at home, without people staring at me. I have not dealt with an actual tantrum in public and I honestly don’t know how I will react. But I can confidently say that I will not resort to physical abuse, no matter how “gentle.” I also know that negotiating or even talking to Isabel when she’s in that state, is pointless. I suppose I can only hope that when it does happen, that those around will withhold judgement for as long as I tried today.