I Won’t Let You Hurt Me

Three-year-old Parker has lately loved dumping out all the toys on the shelves into a big heap and using the empty baskets to build various types of houses, castles, walls, etc. Today, we didn’t have enough time to play that game in its entirety, so I had to cut him off at the third basket. I watched the anger bubble and boil up inside of him. I got down on the floor and breathed, ready to help him through what was about to come.

He furrowed his brow, clenched his fists, and gritted his teeth. Then came the hit I was prepared for. I calmly blocked it, which fired him up even more, so he kicked his foot toward me.

We talked through his huge feelings just like we do every tantrum. And with each attempted blow, he heard my sincere promise, “I won’t let you hurt me; you don’t have to worry about that.”

I’ve been saying this to young children for years, and it is one of my favorites.

I am so much bigger and stronger than he is. I can definitely withstand a three-year-old’s hits, kicks, and slaps when I stay calm in myself, connected to him, and I’m paying attention to block each blow. I won’t let him hurt me. Even if he lands one that aches or stings a little, I can handle it. Because wouldn’t that be really scary for such a small child to be able to hurt so easily someone who is supposed to keep them safe through everything??

And then he glared at me with the most anger in his eyes that his little body could probably hold. Brow furrowed, teeth bared, shaking with fury, he put his nose to mine and yelled in his most threatening voice, “Parker MAD! Parker mad at YOU!”

My internal defense-program flickered, threatening to be triggered. Just a few years ago, it certainly would have been. His body language, his tone of voice, his aggression… My nervous system doesn't know he's only three, but I do. I noticed flutters of impulses to snap, “don’t you dare talk to me that way,” as my own teachers and caregivers would have; to stand up for myself and refuse to be disrespected by such a small person. But as he tried to get in few more blows, and I heard myself say again, “I won’t let you hurt me. You don’t have to worry about that,” I realized:

That statement 100% extends to his anger.

I won’t let his anger hurt me. I am so much wiser and stronger than he is. I can definitely withstand a three-year-old’s anger, rage, and fury when I stay calm in myself, connected to him, and I’m paying attention to block each blow. I won’t let him hurt me. Even if he lands one that aches or stings, I can handle it. Because wouldn’t it be really scary for such a small child to be able to hurt so easily someone who is supposed to keep them safe through everything??

If I am easily provoked, easily wounded, easily angered, … how safe can he really feel, how much can he truly trust me when I try to guide him through his own feelings? I wouldn’t take anger-management advice from someone who struggled to manage their own anger… why should he be expected to?

So in that moment, my heart sent a promise to his:

“I won’t let you hurt me; you don’t have to worry about that, because I am working on my own triggers. And I know the stuff under my triggers isn’t actually about you. And I know that your anger isn’t actually about me. And I’m not going to let those things get in the way of our relationship, because a huge part of my job is to guide you toward the kind of emotional health you can sustain when I’m not in your life as much as I used to be. My job is to teach you how to cope with these feelings.

Because my hope is that someday, when your own small child yells at you, you will able to be fully present without confusing your child’s struggles for your own stuff.”