Setting the Timer

I was sitting at my computer at work enjoying a rare moment of peace when I heard her.  While the wail was distant and faint because I was in my cave of a classroom, I could recognize this particular wail.  It was a wail that echoed down the hallway at my school on an all-too frequent basis.  I stepped out in the hallway and sure enough, there she was.  This little girl, cute as a button as all early elementary students are, was sitting in the middle of the hallway to loudly (and I mean loudly) process some imagined hurt or slight inflicted upon her by another student.

Her teacher, a woman who is a case study in patience and serenity, was standing near her with her arms crossed.  Our eyes met and she told me that the student had been crying for some time and would probably cry for another hour.  That's how it goes.  As we were talking, the wails began to quiet a bit, but when we glanced in her direction a flicker of recognition flashed across the little girl's face and the wails instantly became louder and more impassioned.  She wanted to be sure we knew her pain. Boy, did we.

In the next instant, without thinking really, I confidently strode over to this little girl, pointed my finger at her, and with a stern, but kind voice said, "You get three minutes to be upset.  I am going to get my timer and set it for three minutes.  When the timer goes off, you are done.  Do you understand?"  She looked up at me with tear-stained cheeks and nodded with a dazed expression on her face, but continued to wail.  I walked back to my room, set the timer on my phone, and then stood next to her with my back toward her.  Flashes of doubt spread chilly tendrils into my brain: "What if it doesn't work?  What then?"

After about a minute and a half, the wailing cried.  The timer had not yet gone off, but I turned and looked at her and asked, "Are you done being upset now?"  She nodded.  

"Why don't you take a couple more deep breaths and then go wash your face?  Then, we will walk to  library so you can join your class."  She followed directions without protest and that was that.  We met her teacher in the hallway as we were walking toward the library and my eyes met the questioning eyes of that kind teacher.   My eyes held no answers.  I had no idea why it worked.  But, it did. 

Like anyone who does the kind of work that I do, I was thinking about that interaction and reflecting on what worked and what I might do better.  This would not have worked with every student; in fact, in some situations, this could have really backfired.  The reason this worked was because she didn't really want to be upset anymore; we know this because every time we weren't looking the cries would fade.  She didn't know what boundaries or timeline to impose upon her upset and needed us to tell her.  She knew deep down that she was done being upset, but wasn't sure how to take that next step.

And isn't that true for all of us?

Those who know me in real life know that I have been upset. I may not have been lying in the hallway of school with my arms and legs splayed out and loud cries bursting out of my body, but there have been days that I wish I could have joined this little girl in one of her marathon tantrums.  Like her, I don't really know what timeline to impose on my upset.  My troubles are a bit deeper and more intense than having someone budge in front of me in the lunch line, so the expected timeline is just not as easy to determine.  What is the timeline for heartbreak?  When do you have to just move the heck on?

Some people are eager for me to get to that place.  Heck, I am eager to get to that place, too.  Being upset is messy and uncomfortable and a little too personal for most people to handle for very long.  I have definitely felt the pressure to impose a timeline and just.be.done.

But....  Not so fast...

Recently, I sat in the cozy office of a woman I am paying a great deal of money to help me find that timeline and to understand the boundary and what she told me was scary, maddeningly vague, and extremely validating.

She said, "You get as much time as you need.  You deserve as much time as you need."

I am not a five year old little girl with unreasonable reactions to simple slights.  I need more than three minutes.  I need more than six months.  I even probably need more than one year.  

And that is okay.

Hang with me, friends. I will get there.  However, I can't set my timer just yet. I will know when it's time.