A paper in Home and School, 1939
SECURITY FOR YOUNG CHILDREN
By Susan Isaacs
When we say that the baby and the young child need security , we naturally think first of the physical safety - shelter from danger and cold, from fatigue and infection, proper food at the right times, sleep ad rest and sun and air. But the child himself, security means much more than this. It means much more than teaching him to cross the road safely, to avoid fire and sharp knives. Many a child who is safeguarded feels very insecure, sometimes just because he is too much taken care of, and has no chance to learn to take care of himself, to find confidence in his own skill and knowledge and good sense. But there is another and profounder reason why over-sheltered children very often become restless and unhappy and neurotic. From the child’s point of view,dangers arise within himself, as well as from the outside. It is not only cold and heat and fierce animals that sharp instruments which may endanger his life. There are also his own strong feelings to deal with, inside his mind. If he is angry with his mother, because she does not come when he calls, does not feed him when he wishes, will not pick up his toy or nurse him, talks to another child instead of him, kisses his father when he wants her to caress him, then he wishes (in his deepest feelings) to hurt her in return - to hit or kick, to bite, and scratch, to send her away and make her feel lonely and lost. Many little children often act in this way; all naturally do so at some time or another.; and every child knows what it feel like to wish to do these things.
But since he also loves and wants to cherish the very person he is angry with - mother or father or nurse - the child becomes afraid of his own impulses of anger. He knows how strong his feelings are, how hard it is to wait and not be angry with those who do not obey his wishes. He knows how his own crying and screaming hurt him - how they inflame his eyes and grip his chest and make all the world seem dark and friendless. When one’s eyes are tightly closed, one’s ears deafened with one’s own cries, one cannot hear the voice or see the kind and loving face of mother or nurse - there is nothing but blackness and pain in the world! And since it takes a long time to learn that the world may still be there even if one cannot see it, that mother may still be alive even if in one’s furious anger one wished her dead , that she comes back again even if she goes away for a time; since it takes years of experience for the child to understand that not every accident in the world (illness , injury and less) is the result of his own bad wishes, he suffers much in the learning, and greatly fears his own rage and secret wishes to hurt and punish those who do not follow his will. Form the first year of life, the little child shows feelings of anxiety lest in his angers he should harm those whom he loves, grief and distress because he does not believe his own power to make them better again, to soothe and restore and cherish.
And it is in fact much easier for the young child to knock things down than to build them up, easy to be messy, difficult to be clean, easy to cry and shout, difficult to learn to speak and sing, easy to push one’s baby brother over, and not so easy to pick him up and help him to walk, easy to destroy, harder to put one brick upon another, easy to grab and squeeze, harder to model and paint. We know that even when he is grasping and jumping and pushing and shouting and knocking down a tower of bricks, the child is developing his muscles and furthering his skill; but he does not know that, and very often despairs of ever learning to make things beautiful and keep them safe.
Many of his fits of temper or sulking, his refusal to eat or terrors in the night, his shyness, and suspicion of other children, his unwillingness to play, spring from his feeling of unworthiness and unlovableness inside of himself.
We have no means of keeping these troubles altogether away from the child; they are part of the process of growing up. A growing up which does not take place simply and unconsciously, as in our animal cousins, but carries with it memory and imagination, hopes and ambitions, reflections and comparisons. If the tiny child were not to feel distress at his own clumsiness and impatience, he would need to have the knowledge of the scientist and the faith of a philosopher.
One little boy of two years was seen looking at himself in a mirror, and heard to say reflectively, “Rather like a man!” What hopes and observations his tone expressed! “Not yet am I as big and clever as strong as my beloved father - not yet am I even like him - but only rather like him.” And in the same way the little girl longs to be like her mother, able to give birth and care for children - and doubts and wonders whether such will ever be her happy lot in reality.
The child has so little knowledge to sustain him in his doubts, so little perspective and experience to help him against his secret guilt and sense of weakness. It rests with us to help him over these early troubles, since we cannot keep them away from him.
Our own confidence in him will convey itself to him. Of we have faith in his growth, if we can treasure his childlike qualities for their own sake and for their infinite possibilities, if we have some notion of what he is likely to be able to do as he grows from year to year, if we give him the chance to learn and become skilful, without expecting him to be a man before he is a child, to live up to forced standards of politeness and cleanliness and virtue, he will gain support from our trust and our delight in his growth.
Such a confidence comes to many people by a natural wisdom. It springs from their own sense of perspective in human life, their love of human beings in general and children in particular. But it is always helped by knowledge and experience, by having watched a child live through his early difficulties, having seen him grow and become skilful and virtuous. Most mothers gain such experience with the first born, and are less anxious and unbelieving with the second and third child. but the doubts and severities and fussinesses so often felt by the mother of one child can be lessened by making use of the general sum of knowledge of children’s growth. Some understanding of the normal course of development in the early years is open to everyone nowadays, and infinitely worth the getting.
Above all it helps greatly to know how common difficulties in little children are - how every child has fears and tantrums and obstinacies and refusals, at some time or other; and how most children grow through these troubles, if they are treated with love and patience and human understanding. Then one’s own child no longer seems so perverse or so naughty, so different from other people’s children. And the mother’s ease of mind helps to bring security to the child himself.
This does not mean that the parent’s part in the early years is simply and solely to watch the child grow. It is not even enough to give the child affection. Love, a warm and generous love, freely expressed in the natural way which the child understands and which stirs a loving response in him, is an inalienable need. Without it, he starves and shrivels than if he be deprived of food and physical warmth. The stinting of affection in early life always leaves a permanent scar upon the child’s spirit.
But the love of a parentshows itself not only in the warm tones and endearing words and the embraces which the little child clings to - it expresses itself also in the willingness to deny and to control him when control and denial are called for. Just because his own wishes are so tyrannical, his own powers of control so weak, his fear of hiw own anger so great, the child requires us to be firm, to save ourselves and him from his worst impulses, to ease his guilt by preventing him from doing harm. He needs to feel that we will not let him injure us in his rages, to tyrannize us over his appeals. He wants to know that we are stronger than he - and yet loving and kind. If he feels he can do his will with us, without limit and control, what safety can there be in the world for him? He may hurt and destroy all that his life depends upon - unless wesave the good for him.
It is one thing to refrain from punishment and severity ; another to leave the child without anchor or guide. The child fears our punishment; he dreads that when he does not do our bidding we shall be like him, all anger and fury. But equally he dreads that his own anger and fury will leave us helpless at his mercy. What he most needs is firm and lovingcontrol, which prevents harm without punishing, sets limits without exacting revenge, governs for the sake of love rather than form a worship of law.
When your child wants to scratch and strike another, it is possible to hold his hand and prevent the blow without hurting him. It is possible to teach him: “I can’t talk to you just now, because I want to speak to nurse,” provided we add, “But at such and such a time, I will be able to play with you, and shall love to.” It is possible to say: “Yes, I know how it feels inside when you see me nursing the baby. I know it seemsas if I didn’t want to have you. But when you were little `I nursed you in just the same way, and when you are a bit older, you won’t feel quite so bad, because you will know that I really love you just as much as ever I did.”
In endless detail, we can show the child that we appreciate how he loves even though he feels angry, how natural is his jealousy of the baby even though he also feels tender toward it, and that while we understand and love him, we are yet willing to take care of ourselves and other children for him and thus to cherish and support good in him.
We can, moreover, do all this in simple human friendliness, without assuming an air of godlike perfection. Unreal standards for ourselves are no less harmful than impossible demands upon the child. How can it help the child to believe his parents so all-knowing and wise and free from blemish that he can never hope to be like them? He is only too ready to believe in our supremacy and in his own insufficiency. His need is to learn to reconcile the good and evil in himself - how can he do this if we demand that he should see no fault in us? Or if we cannot yield any defect in ourselves?
We need not to strive for perfection, after absolute justice or a never-to-be ruffled calm. Even the little child knows when we are strained and unnatural, and afraid of revealing ourselves. He is very forgiving of our faults, if only he can be assured of affection and sincerity, and if he feels in general that he can rely upon us for good sense and a loving control.
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