My youngest nephew's tantrums are epic. And they are clearly born of his brain not being able to escape the storm. The last I had to deal with (and deal with my father doing the same OMGKILLMENOW) it was basically stress and exhaustion turned into I WANT ICE CREAM. He couldn't get out of the loop. He just couldn't. He was stuck in despair and need and he couldn't parse any of it. I can't use some of the methods my bro and SIL use, so we ended up in the dark. Counting. Can we get to 1? I want ice cream. Just 1. 1 I want ice cream. OK, we've got one, let's try 2. 1 I want ice cream Let's try 2.

etc. Took a while, but got us to 10 and no more ice cream and talked out his feelings finally.

And then I got us lost in the Aussie boonies in the dark and that totally became the affront of the night he had to detail to his mom (not really, we could backtrack, but I missed the turn back to the house and ended up having to go back to the hotel and ask for a ride.)

The other night on the subway, I sat across from a little girl who couldn't stop hysterically laughing. It was really pretty much the same thing.

And, speaking of kid meltdowns... just about an hour ago I soothed and petted and loved Matilda down from a 20-minute storm of passionate sobbing brought on by my failure to put the headband for her flapper dress for tomorrow's talent show "on right." It turned out that "on right" meant "without making my ears look like they stick out because my ears are very big and look horrible, and I am not pretty and nobody thinks I am because it's true, I really am ugly. I wish I had curly hair like my friend I_____, but I don't and she is beautiful and I am not and everyone knows it."

And then she curled up on the bed in a miserable ball in her red satin flapper dress and wept, and we had a talk about the bad voices out in the world and sometimes in your head that tell you how not-good-enough you are, and how hard it can be to fight them and push back against their lies, and ARGH. She's barely six and a half. How can it be starting already? How can she not know how utterly, heartbreakingly perfect she is? And how can I help her push back when half the time I believe the voices myself?

I figure you can't remember it properly, because the developmental transitions are gamechanging epiphanies, but I do remember as a pre-tween being caught up in, hell, just giggling that much that would rive our parents mad, but it just seemed...it was how we felt...Hyperbole+.5's giggle loop like a normal part of life, not just a mechanism trying to reset itself and operate with "accepted" rules.

I have not been as depreseed as she was in the way she describes, but I have no doubt she could write chronic pain and I would break down. But I'm clearly on some sort of edge, because Graham Norton made me cry-- Chris Pine (who I like purely for his junkets and interviews) and Benedict Cumberbitches hugging their fans who'd come to the UK for that show from as far afield as the US or Japan. They were just so HAPPY with a small thing, and I can't imagine holding strangers' emotions like that. They're both graceful with it too.

My grandmother was a lot like that with her dementia. Mom and I would talk about it all the time, how she was like a toddler when it came to feelings and emotions. She'd get overwhelmed or sad and meltdown or if her routine changed. She'd also get caught in these loops of pointing out all the red cards or reading words on signs.

Matilda is perfect!

And how can I help her push back when half the time I believe the voices myself?

You can because you are now the grown up and you know the voices lie (even when you doubt that truth.) And you can see the beauty and wonderousness. You KNOW it. And because it is hard, you are her living example. So you flip the finger, and let her know that she's her best person. You give her the tools.

Matilda is perfect!

She is, but she devoutly believes she isn't. I asked her if some other kid had told her that and threatened to punch him/her in the face, but she insisted nobody had ever told her and that she just knew it was true when she looked in the mirror.

eta:

So you flip the finger, and let her know that she's her best person. You give her the tools.

We started this evening; I think (hope) I didn't totally bungle the conversation. I just really didn't think that conversation would have to start so soon.

But it is ok to not be perfect. It's interesting! I don't know anyone I love who is perfect. I think I might resent them if I knew them. And that's not to say the people I love do fucked up shit. Just, they are people.

sarameg beat me to precisely what I was rushing to the end to say, JZ.

You can help her fight the voices precisely because you DO know them so well. There is no warrior more legitimate than the veteran warrior.

You did perfectly tonight. It may have hurt, and of course you'd rather not ever have to help her see herself differently than the world conspires to make her do, but you DID the very best there is to do.

Oh gosh. I wish I could hold your hand while gently patting her on the back. Maybe after bringing you mugs of yummy cocoa.

Facing life's challenges can be thirsty work, yo.