Over the weekend I took my kids to the pool. Even though my kids have both been proficient swimmers for several years, they have to retest with the pool’s lifeguards every summer to ensure that they are capable of swimming independently. My daughter was pumped for the test. “I’m going to swim really fast and finish this and then go off the diving board and then go down the slide and then use my goggles and go underwater a lot!” My son was less enthused. “What happens if I fail the test? How deep is the deep end? Do you think I’m going to pass? What if I start to drown?” He continued to share his anxiety and apprehension for the forty minutes, as torrential rain poured onto the pool deck only moments after we finished lathering ourselves in sunscreen. The dark clouds and rain proved to be ominous; we were not off to a good start and things were not going to improve as we not so patiently waited for the clouds to part. 

The test began and I felt my body bracing. Both kids swam across the pool with ease, but as the one minute of treading water in the deep end approached, my son’s anxiety intensified. He kept reaching for the side of the pool and the moment he used it to rest, the lifeguard restarted the timer. “Don’t touch the side! Move away from the side, it’s okay!” I pleaded, increasingly tense and filled with desperation. As he began his third attempt, we approached 20 seconds…30…40…and then another lifeguard blew a whistle. There was a lightning strike within a few miles and the pool was closing. My kids exited the pool, not completing the test, and I was filled with agitation. This entire process of getting ready for the pool, preparing for the test, and taking (and not passing!) the test took a taxing hour, and now we were going to have to do it again another time. My face and tone revealed my disappointment and I regrettingly said, “I’m so frustrated.” 

As we approached our chairs, my son’s eyes filled with tears. He looked at me and sadly shared, “I know you say you love me no matter what and I know that’s true, but right now you are really not being supportive.” I paused. He was spot on. I took a deep breath, channeled my desire to remain connected to and supportive of my child, and I began to soften and make the repair. My tone, posture, and language shifted drastically and I was able to see how unhelpful my behavior and reaction was, and I told him so. It was amazing how quickly he shifted to a calm, relaxed state once I acknowledged his experience, reflected the validity of it, and apologized for my anxious-filled words and actions that made a stressful situation even more pressured. 

This situation was a good reminder that when we meet someone else’s anxiety with our own anxiety it almost never helps, and usually makes the situation worse. A part of me had hoped that if I focused on his capability and emphasized the importance of passing the test, I could by-pass his anxiety and my own. Our kids can usually read right through our agendas though, as much as we wish this were not the case. It would have likely gone better if I were able to just be with him in his anxiety as a calm, supportive, validating presence rather than become in an anxious frenzy myself or try to discredit his experience. 

I was also reminded (once again!) of the importance of repair. There are so many things that prevent us from making healthy repairs when we hurt someone we care for; oftentimes our own embarrassment, pride, and/or shame. But if we can breathe ourselves bigger than those uncomfortable feelings, we can come forward with honesty and some version of, “I see I really hurt you. My actions impacted you in a way that was painful and hard. I can how you experienced me that way. I’m sorry.” Depending on the nature of the relationship and what transpired, we may or may not name what was happening for us and other factors at play, but usually that should come later. When we know we hurt someone we love and acted in a way that’s incongruent with how we want to show up in a relationship, we can own our mistakes and make amends. 

I continue to be humbled by the constant life lessons I get through my relationship with my kids, even on a typical Sunday at a community pool. I find myself feeling so much gratitude for these opportunities to learn, grow, and make adjustments, both internally and in relationship, with those I hold most dear.