Surviving the Second Day and Making it into the Third

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The stated purpose of this writing retreat is to travel outside my usual round of responsibilities so that I could focus on just writing. The first day I spent on travel, which is to be expected. I traveled both physically and mentally, arriving tired. I then suffered the common traveler’s lament of spending all the energy arriving only to desire to rest by being at home. I expected that. I also expected to spend some time grounding myself, becoming familiar with the house and surroundings. I did this at DeepSouthCon when I spent a good portion of the first day photographing and noticing the design choices of the hotel, much to the amusement of the hotel staff. They humored the odd lady taking pictures of the wall sconces and carpet. I’d planned to write up a post using those pictures, but the post never happened. It didn’t need to. I’d situated my brain and was ready to focus on the convention instead.

Except I arrived at the house and it felt familiar. I used to dream about my grandma’s tiny house. In the dreams I went upstairs and through a door to discover that her house had extra rooms and floors. Stepping into Woodthrush Woods was like stepping into one of those dreams, my grandma’s house–only different and bigger. I did not need to wander the house and get to know it. But I was tired from traveling, and despite feeling welcome I was not at home. There were other writers who had just finished dinner. I was introduced and we had a pleasant conversation and then everyone scattered to go write. I was left to myself. Which is the point. It is what is supposed to happen. Yet I did not write. Not really. There is a different feel when I am writing a blog post where I’m saying stuff and where I’m deep in the words. I was saying stuff that evening.

Surely the next day would be better. I would be settled and would begin to accomplish the purpose for which I had come.

Except I did not sleep well and the second day turned out to be hard. It was hard on me. It was hard on Howard and the kids back at home. Their struggles reached out to me across all those miles via internet and innate instinct. Instead of being here and now, my heart felt stretched across half a continent. I wondered why I had come. I was afraid that the logical and spiritual impulses which had guided me to take this trip were about growing through hard experience rather than reward. I really wanted something happy to result, but it was hard to believe that such a thing could happen.

On the second day of the retreat that I learned I bring my emotional baggage with me even when I leave the trappings of my regular life. I could suddenly see the baggage for what it was, but I couldn’t see how to re-pack it, get rid of it, or ship it back home. It was a day of bright and dark. I loved the woods. I needed to be there in the woods. But I wrote no words that were strong enough to convince me that they could not have been better written from home. I cried on the second day. Not all day, but sometimes when I was away from everyone else. I did not want to make any of the other writers responsible for making me feel better. I didn’t know if they could. I felt awful for being away from my family when they needed me at home to provide structure. I knew that they were competent and would find ways to muddle through. I worried about the comic work Howard was not getting done because he was shouldering my work at home as well as his own. I looked at my paltry words. I felt the even greater space of words I didn’t feel like I would ever be able to write. I felt awkward and odd with the people around me because I come from a social and religious context which often requires explanation. When all the worries got too much, I would walk in the woods or watch the birds. It helped, but I spent the day tangled in my own head.

Howard and I shared a phone call where we commiserated about how hard this trip was being for us both and how we weren’t sure what would come of it. I considered paying the extra fees to change my flight and go home early. Except I could tell I was not supposed to. My wise Kiki sent me an email acknowledging that the day had been hard without me there, but ending with “the second day is always hard. It’ll get better.” I marveled at her wisdom and clung to her words, wondering where she had learned it. Oh. She learned it from me. I tell her that at the beginning of a new school year.

The morning was brighter. Howard called and told me things were better at home. I went running up and down the long driveway, because running is better than crying. I walked in the woods. I wrote a blog post about it. Then I opened the file for my magical realism book and story spilled from my brain out through my fingers. I finally felt the deep word focus that I saw in the others when they stared at their screens. 1000 words later I have the bare beginning of characters and a problem. I’m going to have to discovery write this one, but it feels like the right beginning. I have written. I just might survive this experience after all.


My preferred writing bench.

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Walking the Woods

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Behind the house there is a table and chairs for eating. We’ve been taking our lunches out there to sit. This is what I see from my preferred seat.

The forest beckons me, and several times a day I go wandering through it. I can label it research if I want. I’m sure that many of the photographs, sensations, and sights will make it into my fiction. The real truth is that this forest makes me happy. I very much want to take it home with me. Sadly, it will not fit into my luggage, so I’m just trying to spend as much time out walking in it as I can. Memories are easy to pack.

The variety of life here is astounding. I wish I could photograph the birds, but they do not hold still nor let me get close. I would need a camera with a more powerful magnification than what I have. Instead I capture trees and rocks which will hold still. Some of the life looks really alien.

I begin to understand “parasitic” in new ways looking at the vines climbing up these trees. Though some trees do not mind, or have grown to the point where they are too big to be bothered.

If I lived here, or if Gleek lived here, that mossy giant would end up with a name. So would dozens of other little curves of creek and dells created by dead falls. I half want to name them anyway. I can picture in my mind Gleek running out the door and calling “I’m going to the fairy glen!” Perhaps this evening the lighting will be better and I can capture that place.

I did see one forest dweller who reminded me of home.

The yellow jackets here are less aggressive, smaller, and friendlier than the ones I encounter in my garden. Perhaps this is the result of them being part of a fully-balanced ecosystem rather than the oddly misbalanced ones found in suburbs. This guy was content to ride his leaf boat while I got close to take his picture.

Now I need to settle in and write words of fiction, while trying not to be too distracted by the pair of mockingbirds who appear to be playing tag through the trees over my head.

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Woodthrush Woods

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Mary Robinette’s parent’s house has a name: Woodthrush Woods. I love the idea of naming a house. It gives the place an identity separate from a container inside which people live. It is obvious that this particular house has been beloved for multiple generations. People care for their houses differently when they expect their grandchildren to live in it. It makes me want to be more conscious of the choices I make for my own home, even though it is extremely unlikely that my children or grandchildren will settle there. When my house passes out of my hands, I want it to feel like a place where people were happy. Because that is true. I’d just like that happiness to manifest in more careful repairs and fewer broken drawers and dinged plaster.

Around Woodthrush Woods is a forest, which I presume is how the name came to be. I arrived in the dark last night and I knew that one of my first tasks this morning would be to go wandering in the woods. I wanted to get a feel for this place where I’ve landed. I wanted to see what the trees and birds had to say to me.

For the most part they were unconsciously beautiful, not really having much to tell. These trees have stood here a long time. The birds are more ephemeral, but they have still been here longer than I have. I was very interested in the birds since I’ve lived my whole life in the west and many of these are exclusively eastern birds. I immediately regretted leaving my bird field guides at home. I was trying to save luggage space and weight. I looked up the birds on the internet, but there is a satisfaction to flipping through pages and finding the winged creature who just flew by. The woodthrushes were the first I saw. Then I was delighted by an eastern blue jay. Eastern jays, cardinals, and eastern bluebirds are the iconic backyard birds, along with american robins. I’d only ever seen robins. When I came back east one of my big hopes was to see a cardinal.

I wandered through the trees until I chanced on a trail. It led me to a creek.

I knew there was a creek somewhere nearby and I was pleased to find it. I even hopped my way out onto some rocks, nearly dunking a foot so that I could photograph what would have been an ideal spot for pretend games or a fort.

My children would love these woods.

As usual I was fascinated by some of the tiny details of the forest.

There is a bush which has these berries. I’m fairly certain they are not good for human consumption, but the song birds do seem to like them. Walnuts cracked under my feet from the wild trees. It explained why blue jays like it here. Also under my feet was moss. We don’t get moss in Utah, not enough water in the air. This tiny growth feels magical to me and has me considering placing the house for my magical realism book in an eastern forest instead of a western one.

More thought is required, because I’m far more familiar with the feel of a western forest. Except this one feels more alive and magical to me. I wonder if it is or if unfamiliarity just makes it seem so.

I wandered my way back to the house and saw a flash of red in a tree next to the lawn. A cardinal had stopped by, like a wish of good luck for my week-long visit. I hope I see him again before I leave, but once is enough. I love being able to look up from my computer and see birds swooping from tree to tree. This is a lovely place.

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My Travel Day

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I began the morning with an intense focus on last minute things. This was because I required the intensity, not because the things needed it. If I did not train my brain into focus, it wanted to wander around the house thinking maudlin thoughts about each and every thing I touched. I really don’t need to contemplate that this is the last time I’ll touch my regular hairbrush for a week. (I have a smaller brush I use for travel.) I made sure to hug my kids and tell them I loved them. I left enough cookies behind for a week’s worth of lunches. Then I got in the car and focused all my thoughts toward getting myself onto the right plane.

As the plane launched into the sky, I wanted a distraction, something to turn my brain off for the next four hours. Instead I began my writer’s retreat. I pulled out my laptop, I read my study materials, I let these things swirl in my brain and made notes on the mixtures and combinations that resulted. I had thoughts about how my 90% complete SWH draft was aimed in the wrong direction, so I knocked it back to 65% to try again. I observed some of the story techniques that I want to use in my magical realism book and some that I did not. I wrote a letter to one of my kids (remaining letters to be written before the mail comes tomorrow) and noted how the slow and contemplative nature of a handwritten letter changed the way I was thinking about that child and my relationship with him. These may be the first of many letters over the next years. On the ground in Atlanta I noted how empowering it is to be able to find my own way through an airport and onward to my destination without anyone there shepherd me. While waiting at the shuttle drop off point for my ride I contemplated how far I was away from home, and noted how that distance was affecting a portion of my emotional landscape. Then I arrived at a house that has been lived in and loved for three generations, you can see it in all the details. I want to wander everywhere and look at everything. Instead I made the acquaintance of some of the other writers over a late dinner. And now I am here, on my computer, in the familiar little piece of internet home that I brought with me.

Oh, you thought I meant physical travel. That part was pretty boring. It involved sitting in a too small space on a crowded airplane and a too small space in a shared airport shuttle. But the enforced stillness gave time for my thoughts to slow down, expand, pay attention to longer thoughts. It is like the difference between watching the ocean and watching a stream. Both are lovely in their own ways, but different.

For tonight, I finish my trip by settling in to sleep. In the morning I’ll have daylight to look around the woods.

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Preparing for Departure

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Who will bring in the mail while I am gone? I don’t know. I know I mentioned to Howard that he could stack it in the bin at the end of the counter, but that was just one of a dozen small conversations where I gave Howard details of little household tasks that I track and he does not. Some of these small things will be forgotten. Some already have been, since I forgot to even think of them–tasks so invisible that I do them without conscious thought. Awareness of all these little tasks makes me feel that everything will fall apart if I go away. It won’t of course. All of the important tasks will get done. Howard and the kids will see what needs to be done and they will do it.

Yet I worry, not for the tasks themselves, but for the additional stress that my loved ones will feel as they perform last-minute scrambles to accomplish necessary tasks. They’ll scramble themselves over obstacles that I am usually here to make smooth. I’m doing as much smoothing as I can before I leave. Meal plans are in place. Everyone has a week’s worth of clean laundry. The van has a full tank of gas. These small preparations appease my guilt, help me feel like it is okay for me to go and that disaster will not result. It is not as if I’m the first mother to head out for a week-long business trip. I’m not even the first one to feel guilty about it.

Last week I felt very tense about all these little tasks, with the same sort of tension which spurred me to put together a binder full of instructions and supplies for my mother when she came to watch my baby and toddler for a week. These days I can trust my kids to know their own schedules and requirements. No binders required. Yet I still feel the pull of writing notes and plastering the walls with them. Trash on Tuesday! Monday is a minimal day! Youth meeting on Wednesday! Instead of writing a dozen notes, I’ll just write one or two really important reminders. The rest I have to let go. The closer I get to departure, the easier it is for me to let go. I begin to accept that things will be run differently in my absence and that this is fine. My ways are not the only good ways. They may even find better options than the ones I’ve been using for so long.

I went away for four days in April and again in May. I returned from both trips to discover that all my people had grown. They were smarter and more capable because they had figured things out for themselves. They were also glad to have me back. I was glad to be back. I know this will be the same despite the extended length of time. Believing that it will be good for them is the only way I can get myself to let go of the responsibility. I am excited, afraid, curious, looking forward, feeling guilty, hoping for rewards, and counting costs. Tomorrow I fly.

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Spaces and Boredom

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I have been pondering focus and space. These are frequent subjects for pondering and this particular round was triggered by something Sara Zarr wrote on her blog.

Technically there is the time to do [social media and internet browsing], but it leaves my mind fragmented. Also, and this is the main thing: I think creative people need to feel “bored” or lonely. I think you have to endure that rather than immediately soothing it because after the initial agitation is over, the funnel unclogs and you can actually get some stuff into the well, and out of it.

Since reading that, I’ve been paying attention to how often I wander down to my computer to check one thing. I’ve also been noting how I feel before reading through my regular internet stops and after. The truth is that while I feel like I want to check my sites and get them taken care of before settling in to work, I actually find myself less able to prioritize after I’ve read snippets of a dozen things. I have to step away from my computer, sometimes all the way out of the house into my yard. Sometimes it only takes a few minutes of sitting, others thirty minutes or more, but it will suddenly become obvious to me what my next priority should be. Quiet space gives my thoughts a chance to settle and I can see what is important.

It occurs to me that the impulse to check the internet, or read a book, or watch a show, are my brain telling me that I am bored. If I force myself to accept the boredom and live in it, then my brain begins to dredge through thoughts and memories. I start to tell myself stories. This is where fiction and blog posts come from. Boredom is my friend.

I could finish off this blog post with a commitment to do better or a new set of rules for myself. I think I’ve got enough shake-up-my-life challenges for the coming week without adding another one. Instead I’ll trust that observation impacts the observed. The fact that I am paying attention means that I’ve changed my behavior and will probably continue to do so. Perhaps I’ll set a specific goal in this area once I’ve returned from the retreat and cleared the returning home tasks.

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An Illustration of the Difficulties of Writing while Parenting

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I had 30 minutes before I needed to pick up Kiki from school. Then I had 50 minutes between returning home from that trip and picking up Gleek and Patch. Link would arrive home by himself about half way through the 50 minute period. In theory, I had a good hour of time for writing, so I grabbed Calcifer and headed out back, away from the internet, to begin typing.

15 minutes later Howard came looking for me because he wondered where I was and to check that I had a clock to keep track of departure time for picking up Kiki. I did. Calcifer, being a laptop, is clock equipped. The conversation with Howard touched on a couple of other topics and together we used up 10 minutes. I wrote for 5 more and then closed Calcifer to depart for Kiki’s school.

Kiki and I talked in the car on the way home. I like being the one to pick up my kids from school. It gives me a chance to hear snippets of their day and to assess their mood so that I know how the afternoon is likely to go. Kiki was tired, but chatty.

We arrived home and I had about 50 minutes before the second pick up run. I grabbed Calcifer and headed back outside. The weather was too lovely for being indoors. Kiki followed me, mostly to find our kitty, but also because her thoughts weren’t done unspooling after the school day. She sat next to me and kept talking. I like talking to Kiki. She is clever and funny. We laugh a lot so long as we’re not in a contentious conversation, which this one wasn’t. We laughed together for about 20 minutes before she wandered inside to take a nap.

I had 30 minutes left for writing, with one likely interruption when Link came home. I began typing.

Kiki came back out of the house with the phone. Link had called from his school to tell me that he was staying late and would need a ride home as soon as he finished something up. It would probably be another 10 minutes or so. I stayed inside to be near the phone and settled to begin typing. 25 minutes left.

No sooner had I settled myself and woken Calcifer from sleep when the phone rang again. Link was done because the computer network at school was down. Could I come get him?

I drove to retrieve Link, a 15 minute round trip. We walked in together and spent 5 minutes finishing off our conversation and settling him in for the afternoon. I had 5 minutes before I was due to leave.

I typed, just barely hitting the post button on the blog post I’d written before heading out the door about 3 minutes late to pick up Gleek and Patch.

Total elapsed time: 95 minutes
Time spent driving: 30 minutes
Time spent talking (while not also driving): 40 minutes
Time spent writing: 25 minutes in five pieces.

The blog post I wrote was the one that precedes this one. I wonder if it would have been a better post if I’d been able to focus on it uninterrupted. I’ll never know, but I do know that I wrote today. I also do not begrudge a single minute of those interruptive conversations. They were each important for different reasons.

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Preparing to Unfold

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Next Monday I’ll board a plane to attend a week-long writer’s retreat. This week has been one of preparation. I’m working to help Patch finish his book report early so that Howard is not stuck with a last minute homework scramble. We’re practicing with Gleek and Patch so that they know how to do bedtime on their own. We’re helping Link and Kiki meet deadlines ahead of time. I’m doing laundry, cleaning house, and stocking the larder. At the same time I’m letting some of these tasks be incomplete, because one of the points of this trip is for me to learn that Howard and the kids do not always require my help, and for them to learn how to step up and help themselves. This learning is necessary since I do things for my family without even thinking about it. I am always performing small invisible tasks which make life go more smoothly, even when I should let the kids struggle with doing these things for themselves. I’m working on it, but truly the only way to convince myself that disaster will not result if I stop doing is for me to step away completely and see that disaster does not occur.

The other reason for the trip is writing. I am quite curious to see what happens when I fold away all the parent thoughts, house care thoughts, and business thoughts simultaneously. What will emerge in the space thus created? I’m hopeful that it will be lovely words and stories. I realized today that I’ve been feeling the same reluctance about writing fiction that I do when contemplating starting a new book or TV show. I know that the story is going to take up residence in my brain and use space until it is complete. I have so many ongoing projects that it is hard to want to sign up for another one. Yet I’m going to. During this retreat I’m going to unfold four writing projects which have been waiting for me.

1. The Strength of Wild Horses. This is the follow up picture book to Hold on to Your Horses. I’m going to attempt to focus on this one first because I want to emerge from the retreat with a completed text.

2. My middle grade fantasy book about a video game playing Tomte (think house elf or brownie) who befriends a young boy. I’ve got the first bit of the book written, but it needs to be restructured and expanded.

3. A magical realism book for which I only have fragments and pieces. I know where it is set, I have a couple of characters with attached emotional issues. The book wants to have themes of dealing with mental illnesses and the fairy tale Tam Lin will be referenced in relation to those. This one feels important, but I really need to collect more pieces before true drafting can begin.

4. Somewhere Before the Blinding Light. This is a short story/novelette/novella which I’ve already drafted once, but needs significant revision. I want to set it on a colony world which was primarily settled by people from India. This means that I need to do some research into Indian history and culture in order to get the social structures right. The story deals with themes of memory and choice because there is a technology which allows selective memory erasure.

Those are the projects I intend to work on. It is entirely possible that some other project will materialize and demand attention instead. This is the danger of turning over so much brain space to my writer self. I am certain that I will also end up with ideas for essays and blog entries, some of which will be completed and posted as the week progresses. Next week is definitely going to be interesting.

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How Can the Schools Contact Me, Let Me Count the Ways

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I appreciate that my kids’ schools try to keep me informed. I really do. When Kiki was starting school a decade ago events and deadlines got missed because notes didn’t make it home or were never handed over to me. I remember being frustrated about the lack of communication. Now things have swung the other way and I feel like the schools are like a child on the playground shouting “look at me!” every five seconds.

Any time the elementary school has an announcement, they send a note home with the kids. Both of the kids, so I end up with two copies of every note. Then I also get a phone call telling me all of the information that is contained in the note. At the same moment that the automated system is calling me, it also sends me an email to tell me the exact same information. One announcement and I’m notified four times.

The junior high school both calls and emails for every announcement. Except that in addition to the automated announcement system, sometimes one of the junior high secretaries will also write an email to tell me the same information.

The High School also uses an automated phone and email system. It has the added fun aspect that most of the time the emails are not actually emails, but links to an audio file of the phone call. Also the principal’s messages are always attachments, never in the body of the email.

If all the schools have announcements on the same day, I’ll get three phone calls and four emails.

This is not all. The attendance system is separate. If any of my kids have an unexcused absence (If I didn’t call early enough to prevent them being marked unexcused, or if the teacher just fails to mark them there) then I get a phone call about that. There is a super extra special phone call and email combo that automatically contacts me if a child ever is absent from the high school flex class that they’re supposed to attend. That phone call will be a recording of the principal’s voice speaking very sternly about my student’s bad choices. Except the only time I’ve ever heard it was when my student was off doing school business and the teacher who was supposed to excuse her forgot to do so.

I did not sign up for any of the school PTAs this year because last year they averaged 1-3 emails per week per PTA.

So I feel a little bombarded, particularly this week when all three schools are very focused on their upcoming Parent Teacher Conferences and school fundraisers. I am over-contacted. Yet I am sure that every day the school secretaries get phone calls asking questions about exactly the information that they’ve handed out multiple times in multiple ways. They bombard me because it saves time answering parent questions over the phone and like spam, sending multiple messages is as easy as sending one.

Today I got a phone call from the school that I was very happy to receive. It was one of the teachers calling me directly to talk over concerns about one of my kids. We talked and problem solved for about 20 minutes and agreed that a conference with additional staff members might be beneficial. This is the heart of why I put up with the noise, the candy sales, the demands, the emails, the phone calls, because, in the end, all of those things begin with adults who care passionately about helping kids have the opportunities that they need. Some of the programs which are noise to me are vital for some other child. Because of this, I will exercise my patience. And submit a suggestion that maybe it would be possible to allow parents to opt out of the automated announcement phone calls.

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Strategies for Dealing with a Bully

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Here at Chez Tayler we are currently managing a couple of situations where one of my kids feels picked on or bullied. This is nothing new. We deal with iterations of this almost every year. We’ve also dealt with situations where I needed to teach my kids not be mean to others. In helping my kids analyze their experiences and formulate strategies, I’ve realized that many of these strategies are fairly universally applicable. So I am going to offer them to the internet as tools for dealing with bullying.

Before I begin talking strategies, I feel it is important to clarify that not every negative social interaction is bullying. Bullying is persistent and there is usually a power differential. If the kids have roughly equal social status you can get all sorts of nasty conflict, but it is not quite the same as bullying. What gets fascinating is that sometimes two kids both feel like they’re being bullied because they perceive the other person as more powerful and popular than they are. Some of the strategies below address true bullying, others are more appropriate to other sorts of social conflicts. I’m going to put them all down, because I can’t be certain which strategy will be most helpful in a given situation. Please be careful and cautious, bully situations sometimes get worse for a time as the bully lashes out at the social shift. If there is any risk of physical danger, get allies–adults, teachers, other parents, friends, people who will help keep you or your child safe.

1. Lay Low. This sounds like the common, and often useless, advice “just ignore it and the bully will stop,” but it is not quite the same thing. Laying low is not hiding and waiting. It is lowering your visibility for awhile to give you space to pay attention to some of the other strategies on this list. Avoid the places you’re likely to see the bully, try not to draw attention. If you are a target of opportunity, or the bullying is taking place in a particular social context, laying low may be all that is necessary to defuse it. This is why the “ignore it” advice still gets handed around. Sometimes it works. Laying low can also resolve social conflicts that are not actually bullying. However if a bully is deliberately seeking victims, this may shift the target, but will not eliminate the behavior; other strategies have to be used.

2. Identify allies. True allies are people you trust to listen and act fairly, not just people who will always take your side. If people only choose sides, you find yourself in the middle of a West Side Story conflict; two groups ready for battle. In theory the staff at the school are impartial people, who will judge fairly. It is not always the case. Look around at how other people are reacting to the bullying. You’ll likely notice some people who do not like it but are not saying anything. These could be allies. Parents should be allies for their kids. Listen in detail, don’t get instantly outraged and defensive. There are two sides to every story and until you know both sides, you are not ready to aim your outrage at the most appropriate target.

3. Identify Causes. Another common bit of advice is that bullies are actually scared inside. This has truth in it. Most bullying is not deliberately malicious for maliciousness sake. It is immature personalities flailing around trying to defend themselves from social harm or to scrabble themselves into a better social position. Some harmful behavior is just inconsiderate and clueless. Feelings of insecurity are a huge driving force for meanness. Figuring out where the hurtful behavior comes from does not necessarily make it hurt less, but it definitely strengthens the person being hurt. It gives you a chance to come up with ideas of how to change the social context. Often clues to the shape of the pain are embedded in the bullying itself. For example: the insecure girl seeks to tear down another girl who she perceives as a competitor. She is trying to push her insecurity off onto someone else.

4. Risk Assessment. Sit down in a safe place to figure out why the things the bully did hurt. Is it physical injury? Is it that you’re afraid that other people will believe the bully’s words? Figure out what the bully has power to damage that matters to you. This lets you focus on undermining the power of the bully carefully and consistently. It gives you specific aspects of the bully situation that you can focus on and untangle. Also spend some time thinking through what power you have. What allies can you bring into play? What new allies can you acquire? What consequences will there be if you take action? What can you do to remove the power of the bully over the things that matter to you? Identifying what you’re most afraid of and what you most want to salvage from the situation helps you better assess what you are willing to risk in order to make the bullying stop. When the bully has no power over anything that matters to you, the bully becomes irrelevant.

5. Extinguishing Behavior. Most bullies are not very self-aware. This means that they can be experimental subjects like Pavlov’s dogs responding to stimulus and rewards. Once you’ve identified some causes and the risks, you can begin to remove rewards for behavior you don’t want and add them for things you do. A boy pulls the girl’s hair because he likes to hear her shriek and he wants her attention. She can begin by stifling her shriek and turning away instead of turning toward. If she also rewards him with attention for a positive behavior, like holding the door open, then the boy will shift his behavior to match the rewards he wants. This tactic works best when applied slowly and subtly. It is particularly effective if allies are part of the plan. Five people working in concert to eliminate an unwanted behavior can make it vanish quickly. Be aware that extinguishing one behavior may make a new unpleasant behavior emerge.

6. Keep Records. I add this one with caution, because for the most part we should let go of the small social harms we receive rather than holding on to them. But if you are dealing with a true bully, someone who persistently tries to undermine you or harm you, then this one is critical. Employ it when the victim is at serious risk of physical or emotional harm. Write down information about bullying incidents, what was said, where it happened, who witnessed it, any proof you have that the incident occurred. These records are first for you, to help you identify patterns. Second they function as evidence if you have to convince someone in authority that they must act against the bully. I do not recommend that children be the ones to keep records. Parents should encourage the kids to tell the stories, but parents keep the records. Do not let the bully know about the records. If the situation resolves, stow the records and let it go.

I know there are other strategies out there, but thus far circling through these has been enough to empower my kids to handle their social conflicts. If you have additional thoughts and strategies, I’d love to see them in the comments.

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