The pain of this childhood deprivation is difficult to bear. Usually it is repressed. Consciousness contracts and psychic numbing is evoked—as a survival strategy, to make existence tolerable. Self-awareness is avoided. This is often the start of a pattern that lasts a lifetime.
Depending on other psychological factors, we can see two different responses to touch deprivation later in life. On one level they appear opposite, yet both express alienation and both are harmful to self-esteem. On the one hand we may see in an adult an avoidance of intimate contact with other human beings, a withdrawal from human encounters, expressing feelings of fear and unworthiness; a failure of self-assertiveness, among other things. Or we may see compulsive sexual promiscuity, an unconscious effort to heal the wound of touch starvation, but in a way that humiliates without resolving, and personal integrity and self-respect are two of the casualties. Both responses leave the individual isolated from authentic human contact.
Love
A child who is treated with love tends to internalize the feeling and to experience him- or herself as lovable. Love is conveyed by verbal expression, nurturing actions, and the joy and pleasure we show in the sheer fact of the child’s being.
An effective parent can convey anger or disappointment without signaling withdrawal of love. An effective parent can teach without resorting to rejection. The value of the child as a human being is not on trial.
Love is not felt to be real when it is always tied to performance, tied to living up to Mother’s or Father’s expectations, and is withdrawn from time to time as a means of manipulating obedience and conformity. Love is not felt to be real when the child receives subtle or unsubtle messages to the effect, “You are not enough.”
Unfortunately, many of us received such messages. You may have potential, but you are unacceptable as you are. You need to be fixed. One day you may be enough, but not now. You will be enough only if you fulfill our expectations.
“I am enough” does not mean “I have nothing to learn and nowhere to grow to.” It means “I accept myself as a value as I am.” We cannot build self-esteem on a foundation of “I am not enough.” To convey to a child “You are not enough” is to subvert self-esteem at the core. No child feels loved who receives such messages.
Acceptance
A child whose thoughts and feelings are treated with acceptance tends to internalize the response and to learn self-acceptance. Acceptance is conveyed, not by agreement (which is not always possible) but by listening to and acknowledging the child’s thoughts and feelings, and by not chastising, arguing, lecturing, psychologizing, or insulting.
If a child is repeatedly told that he or she must not feel this, must not feel that, the child is encouraged to deny and disown feelings or emotions in order to please or placate parents. If normal expressions of excitement, anger, happiness, sexuality, longing, and fear are treated as unacceptable or wrong or sinful or otherwise distasteful to parents, the child may disown and reject more and more of the self to belong, to be loved, to avoid the terror of abandonment. We do not serve a child’s development by making self-repudiation the price of our love.
Few attitudes of parents can be so helpful for the child’s healthy development as the child’s experience that his or her nature, temperament, interests, and aspirations are accepted—whether or not parents share them. It is unrealistic in the extreme to imagine that parents will enjoy or be comfortable with a child’s every act of self-expression. But acceptance in the sense described in this book does not require enjoyment or comfort—or agreement.
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We do not serve a child’s development by making self-repudiation the price of our love.
* * *
A parent may be athletic, a child may not be—or the reverse. A parent may be artistic, a child may not be—or the reverse. A parent’s natural rhythms may be fast, a child’s may be slow—or the reverse. A parent may be orderly, a child may be chaotic—or the reverse. A parent may be extroverted, a child may be introverted—or the reverse. A parent may be very “social,” a child may be less so—or the reverse. A parent may be competitive, a child may not be—or the reverse. If differences are accepted, self-esteem can grow.
Respect
A child who receives respect from adults tends to learn self-respect. Respect is conveyed by addressing a child with the courtesy one normally extends to adults. (As child psychologist Haim Ginott used to observe, if a visiting guest accidentally spills a drink, we do not say, “Oh, you’re so sloppy! What’s the matter with you?” But then why do we think such statements are appropriate for our children, who are much more important to us than the visitor? Surely it would be more appropriate to say to the child something like, “You’ve spilled your drink. Will you get some paper towels from the kitchen?”)
I recall a client once saying to me, “My father talks to any busboy with more courtesy than he’s ever extended to me.” “Please” and “thank you” are words that acknowledge dignity—that of the speaker as well as the listener.
Parents need to be informed: “Be careful what you say to your children. They may agree with you.” Before calling a child “stupid” or “clumsy” or “bad” or “a disappointment,” consider the question, “Is this how I want my child to experience him or herself?”
If a child grows up in a home where everyone deals with everyone else with natural, good-natured courtesy, he or she learns principles that apply both to self and to others. Respect of self and others feels like the normal order of things—which, properly, it is.
The fact that we love a child does not guarantee that respect will be automatic. Lapses of consciousness are always possible, no matter how loving our feelings. Once when my granddaughter Ashley was five I was whirling her around, laughing with her, and enjoying myself so much that I did not stop when she said, “I want to be put down now, Grandpa.” But I caught myself an instant later when she said solemnly, “Grandpa, you’re not listening to me.” “Sorry, sweetheart,” I answered, and obeyed.
Visibility
Especially important for the nurturing of a child’s self-esteem is the experience of what I have called psychological visibility. I wrote about the human need for visibility, as it applies to all human relationships, in The Psychology of Romantic Love. Here I want to touch on just a few basics as they pertain to a child’s interactions with parents. But first, some general comments about visibility.
If I say or do something and you respond in a way that I perceive as congruent in terms of my own behavior—if I become playful and you become playful in turn, or if I express joy and you show understanding of my state, or if I express sadness and you convey empathy, or if I do something I am proud of and you smile in admiration—I feel seen and understood by you. I feel visible. In contrast, if I say or do something and you respond in a way that makes no sense to me in terms of my own behavior—if I become playful and you react as if I were being hostile, or if I express joy and you display impatience and tell me not to be silly, or if I express sadness and you accuse me of pretending, or if I do something I am proud of and you react with condemnation—I do not feel seen and understood, I feel invisible.
To feel visible to you I do not require your agreement with what I am saying. We might be having a philosophical or political discussion, and we might hold different viewpoints, but if we show understanding of what the other is saying, and if our responses are congruent in terms of that, we can continue to feel visible to each other and even, in the midst of arguing, be having a thoroughly good time.
When we feel visible, we feel that the other person and I are in the same reality, the same universe, metaphorically speaking. When we don’t, it is as if we were in different realities. But all satisfying human interactions require congruence at this level; if we do not experience ourselves as in the same reality, we cannot relate in a mutually satisfying way.
The desire for visibility is the desire for a form of objectivity. I cannot perceive myself, cannot perceive my p
erson, “objectively,” only internally, from a perspective that is uniquely private. But if your responses make sense in terms of my internal perceptions, you become a mirror allowing me the experience of objectivity about my person. I see myself reflected in your (appropriate) responses.
Visibility is a matter of degree. From childhood on, we receive from human beings some measure of appropriate feedback; without it, we could not survive. Throughout our life there will be people whose responses will allow us to feel superficially visible and, if we are fortunate, a few people with whom we will feel visible in a more profound way.
As an aside, let me say that it is in romantic love, at its best, that psychological visibility tends to be most fully realized. Someone who loves us passionately is motivated to know and understand us to a greater depth than someone with whom our relationship is more casual. What does one often hear from people who are in love? “He (she) understands me as I have never felt understood before.”
A child has a natural desire to be seen, heard, understood, and responded to appropriately. To a self that is still forming, this need is particularly urgent. This is one of the reasons a child will look to a parent for a response after having taken some action. A child who experiences his or her excitement as good, as a value, but is punished or rebuked for it by adults undergoes a bewildering experience of invisibility and disorientation. A child who is praised for “always being an angel” and knows this is not true also experiences invisibility and disorientation.
Working with adults in psychotherapy, I see the frequency with which the pain of invisibility in their home life as children is clearly central to their developmental problems and to their insecurities in adult relationships. Thus:
If I had felt visible to my parents—
I wouldn’t feel so alienated from people today.
I would have felt like a member of the human race.
I would have felt safe.
I would have felt visible to myself.
I would have felt loved.
I would have felt there was hope.
I would have felt like one of the family.
I would have felt connected.
I would be sane.
I would have been helped to understand myself.
I would have felt I had a home.
I would have felt I belonged.
If a child says, unhappily, “I didn’t get the part in my school play,” and Mother answers, empathically, “That must hurt,” the child feels visible. What does a child feel if Mother answers sharply, “Do you think you’ll always get what you want in life?”
If a child bursts into the house, full of joy and excitement, and Mother says, smiling, “You’re happy today,” the child feels visible. What does a child feel if Mother screams, “Do you have to make so much noise? You’re so selfish and inconsiderate! What is the matter with you?”
If a child struggles to build a tree house in the backyard, and Father says, admiringly, “Even though it’s hard, you’re sticking with it,” the child feels visible. What does a child feel if Father says, impatiently, “God, can’t you do anything?”
If a child is out for a walk with Father and comments on a wide variety of things he sees along the way, and Father says, “You really notice a lot,” the child feels visible. What does a child feel if Father says, irritably, “Don’t you ever stop talking?”
When we convey love, appreciation, empathy, acceptance, respect, we make a child visible. When we convey indifference, scorn, condemnation, ridicule, we drive the child’s self into the lonely underground of invisibility.
Psychologists and educators, reflecting on the childhood elements that support self-esteem, often speak of giving the child an appreciation of his or her uniqueness and also of giving the child a sense of affiliation or belonging (the sense of roots). Both goals are achieved to the extent that the child is given the experience of visibility.
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When we convey love, appreciation, empathy, acceptance, respect, we make a child visible.
* * *
Visibility should not be equated with praise. Watching a child struggle with a homework assignment and saying “Math seems hard for you” is not praise. Saying “You’re looking upset right now—want to talk?” is not praise. Saying “You wish you didn’t have to go to the dentist” is not praise. Saying “You really seem to enjoy chemistry” is not praise. But such statements do evoke the sense of being seen and understood.
If we are to love effectively—whether the object is our child, our mate, or a friend—the ability to provide the experience of visibility is essential. This presupposes the ability to see. And this presupposes the exercise of consciousness.
And in giving this to our child—visibility, consciousness—we model a practice that he or she may learn to emulate.
Age-Appropriate Nurturing
That children require nurturing is obvious. What is sometimes less obvious is the need for nurturing to be age-appropriate or, more precisely, appropriate to the child’s level of development.
Some forms of nurturing that are right for a three-month-old infant would clearly be infantalizing for a six-year-old child. The infant is dressed by an adult; a six-year-old properly dresses him or herself. Some forms of nurturing that are right for a six-year-old would subvert growth toward autonomy in a sixteen-year-old. When a six-year-old asks a question, it can be nurturing to take the question seriously and answer it. When a teenager asks a question it may be nurturing to draw out his or her own thoughts on the subject or recommend a book to read or a library to go to for research.
I recall a twenty-six-year-old woman who came to me in a state of crisis because her husband had left her and she did not know how to shop for herself. For the first nineteen years of life, her mother had purchased all her clothes; when she married at nineteen, her husband took over that responsibility—and not only for clothing but for all household goods, including food. Emotionally, she felt herself to be a child, with a child’s level of self-sufficiency. The thought of having to make independent choices and decisions, even about the simplest, most mundane matters, terrified her.
If a parent’s goal is to support the child’s independence, one of the ways this is achieved is to offer a child choices in keeping with the child’s level of development. A mother may not think it advisable to ask her five-year-old whether he or she wants to wear a sweater; but she can offer a choice of two sweaters. Some children are eager for an adult’s advice when it is not necessary. It is helpful to respond, “What do you think?”
One wants to turn over choice and decision making to a child as fast as the child can comfortably handle them. This is a judgment call, requiring consciousness and sensitivity from the adult. The point is: Be aware of the ultimate objective.
Praise and Criticism
Loving parents, concerned to support the self-esteem of their children, may believe that the way to do it is with praise. But inappropriate praise can be as harmful to self-esteem as inappropriate criticism.
Many years ago I learned from Haim Ginott an important distinction: that between evaluative praise and appreciative praise. It is evaluative praise that does not serve a child’s interests. Appreciative praise, in contrast, can be productive both in supporting self-esteem and in reinforcing desired behavior.
To quote from Ginott’s Teacher and Child:
In psychotherapy a child is never told, “You are a good little boy.” “You are doing great.” “Carry on your good work.” Judgmental praise is avoided. Why? Because it is not helpful. It creates anxiety, invites dependency, and evokes defensiveness. It is not conducive to self-reliance, self-direction, and self-control. These qualities demand freedom from outside judgment. They require reliance on inner motivation and evaluation. To be himself, one needs to be free from the pressure of evaluative praise.
If we state what we like and appreciate about the child’s actions and accomplishments, we remain factual and descriptive; we leave it to the child t
o do the evaluating. Ginott offers these examples of the process:
Marcia, age twelve, helped the teacher rearrange the books in the class library. The teacher avoided personal praise. (“You did a good job. You are a hard worker. You are a good librarian.”) Instead she described what Marcia accomplished: “The books are all in order now. It’ll be easy for the children to find any book they want. It was a difficult job. But you did it. Thank you.” The teacher’s words of recognition allowed Marcia to make her own inference. “My teacher likes the job I did. I am a good worker.”
Phyllis, age ten, wrote a poem describing her reaction to the first snow of the season. The teacher said, “Your poem reflected my own feelings; I was delighted to see my winter thoughts put into poetic phrases.” A smile crossed the little poet’s face. She turned to her friend and said, “Mrs. A. really likes my poem. She thinks I am terrific.”
Ruben, age seven, had been struggling to make his handwriting neat. He found it difficult to keep his letters on the line. Finally, he managed to create a neat page with well-constructed letters. The teacher wrote on his paper: “The letters are neat. It was a pleasure to read your page.” When the papers were returned, the children eagerly read the notes the teacher had written. Suddenly, the teacher heard the smacking of lips. There was Ruben kissing his paper! “I am a good writer,” he announced.
The more specifically targeted our praise, the more meaningful it is to the child. Praise that is generalized and abstract leaves the child wondering what exactly is being praised. It is not helpful.
The Six Pillars of Self-Esteem Page 21