My husband filled each plate with food and said the blessing on our dinner. Once everyone was busy eating, he cleared his throat and excitedly announced his news. The news erupted with joy, “We are on orders to PCS.” As these words left his grinning mouth and hung in the air, the other faces around the table didn’t mirror his enthusiasm.
“I hate you!” “You are ruining my life! Again!” “Why?”
They spat their angry words like over-seasoned food.
Each of my children echoed these statements with varying intensity of emotions. The level of angst directly correlated to their level of connection at our current duty station. One would typically shout and then storm off. My husband would be expected to talk to the other two while I counted to 100 to calm myself.
I know they love me, even if their words shout otherwise. Yelling at me was a reaction, not an actual emotion that lived in their heart. A move during the emotional, hormone-fueled teenage stage is exceptionally challenging. Add the stress of military uncertainty and you get a hot mess.
After my heartbeat slowed, I prayed I would not overreact to the hurting teenager. Then and only then, I knocked on their door and waited. Often, “Go AWAY,” rumbled from behind the door. Other times, “Leave me alone,” wailed. Occasionally, “Come in,” sobbed out. Whichever emotion greeted me, I knew my teenager felt hurt and needed their mother.
Usually, I opened the door quietly and slipped in to sit on the bed beside the teen who still resembled my baby. I learned to wait silently until they turned to me or stretched a leg to touch me. Waiting for acknowledgment from them was a hard lesson to learn. I wanted to come in and hug them and tell them about the good things about our new duty station. Yet they were not ready to hear anything about the new place, because their heart was focused on the best things about our current location. The friends, the school, the teachers, the activities, whatever had swallowed their hearts.
“Wait, sit, be silent!” My mind repeated while my heart fought to hold them tight.
Sometimes sitting silently stretched into minutes and occasionally into hours. Usually, they reached out to share their pain with me. No matter the length of time it took, I coached myself to remember strategies that helped before:
1. React in love but don’t overreact, even when they do. Count to ten or 100 as needed to calm emotions.
2. Remain approachable. Keep your door open even when they slam theirs closed.
3. Resist the urge to hold them, let them initiate the interactions. Sometimes the tears flow onto their pillows other times onto our shoulders.
4. Reflect on your feelings, don’t force yourself to be happy. Don’t expect them to be happy even when you know everything will work out just fine.
These 4 tips have served me well in navigating PCS pain with my teens many times over. If I can just wait, they will share their pain, eventually. Then, we can begin to set a course for success in our next destination. Do you have any other tips for helping your teens deal with stress and change?