“I’m lonely. No one played with me.”
This is what my daughter said after daycare.
She was born just before the pandemic. She’s been in social isolation for more than half of her life. This is her fifth daycare.
Her daycare is having its Halloween celebration this week and I’m traveling. All last week, I caught myself scanning Amazon, carefully preparing the goodie bags she would bring to her classmates. I was obsessed with this assignment. I felt my perfectionist self go into overdrive.
Then I paused.
Somewhere in the middle of 15 Halloween bags, boxes and boxes of toys, and other trinkets, I paused.
I noticed that perfectionist energy. The feeling of – I must get this right. I have to do it perfectly.
I noticed what was unfolding. The tenseness in the pit of my stomach. The short, shallow breaths. The underlying script – if I can just get this goodie bag right, she can give it to her classmates, and she can have friends.
It’s the mind’s way of trying to control what it does not have control over. Combined with the (false) belief that if I can just do it right, if I can do it perfectly, I can negotiate with life and stay untouched from what is painful.
I paused.
I acknowledged what was happening – my daughter is having a difficult time at school. I’m trying to protect her from difficulties. All perfectly natural. So human.
So, I’ve been taking time every day to talk about loneliness with my daughter.
Knowing I’ll be away from her for a whole week.
Knowing I can’t protect her from challenging feelings.
Knowing this is life.
And I practice being with what is. Our conversations go like this.
“Sometimes I feel lonely too.”
“Where do you feel the loneliness in your body? I feel lonely in my belly. It feels like a tight ball and it’s bright blue.”
“What are some things that might make the loneliness feel better?”
“When I feel lonely… I give myself a big hug, I draw pictures, I tell someone (mommy, daddy, or a teacher), and I ask my classmate if they want to play.”
And I remind myself to connect with the moment and notice the tendency of the perfectionist to get in the driver’s seat. I remind myself that I cannot fix this with the tools of perfectionism and to show up with love.