In my years of work, I have been publicly humiliated, yelled at, dismissed. But the hardest conversation I’ve ever had was not in the boardroom or at the office.
It was at the playground.
For months, our four-year old firstborn Sarah-Faith had been taunted by a girl of the same age at our neighborhood playground.
“NANNY NANNY POO POO! I’M BETTER THAN YOU!”
When this first took place, Sarah-Faith, completely unacquainted with this new brand of hurtful language, was blissfully oblivious.
But as time went by, she began to ask me, at times in between tears, “Why is T playing with me for while and then saying bad things to me after that?”
Her mother, close by at times, would bury herself in a copy of The Straits Times.
This happened repeatedly over a month. I tried my best to do damage control by helping Sarah-Faith name her feelings, articulate them, then provide comfort. But it was wearing me down.
One evening, as both of my toddlers burst into a spectacular meltdown triggered by the incessant taunting, with my younger two-year old flinging herself down from a height, I raised the issue of the relentless taunting to the other girl’s mother, only to have her inform me that my children were clearly oversensitive.
“Kids sort themselves out. Most other kids know how to let water run down a duck’s back.”
I was horrified.
I left, head down, my tail between my legs. Perhaps there was truly something wrong with my parenting. After all, she was an experienced mum with 4 kids, and often had good advice to share.
Since that incident, I trudged every evening with my children to a playground much farther off. It was three traffic lights away, through a dangerous major intersection. But as if they understood the tradeoff, my kids never whined or complained. Sarah-Faith’s little legs gained the strength for the hike.
To avoid conflict and another confrontation, we were all happy to do what it took.
Partial lockdown happened anyway, and I comforted myself that it was a refreshing change.
Months passed. Sarah-Faith missed her old friends. We read books about bullies, bullying and what to do. We ran the scenarios in our heads, choosing to (a) walk away, (b) tell the bully to stop, (c) go to Mama.
From a special lookout point, we’d check and see if the mother-daughter duo were there. She had given me special advice on several occasions before. I often left feeling wanting of my role as a mother, at the end of long weary evenings.
One evening, however, the duo showed up just as we did. Sarah-Faith and I took a deep breath.
“Are you ready, Sarah-Faith?” my voice disappearing, my heart sinking to my stomach.
“YES MAMA. BE BRAVE. GOD IS WITH US!”
I turned to look at Sarah-Faith, stunned by her words.
The taunting continued, louder each time. Newspaper Mum hid behind the day’s international headlines, choosing not to intervene. I watched her feisty four-year old walk to an elderly grandmother sitting on a swing, with her baby grandson on her lap, and scream “Get off MY swing!”
The swing next to it was empty.
The grandma, bewildered, walked off in ignominious retreat. The whole world crumbled under this little girl’s reign.
I told her mother nearby what just happened, to which she laughed, and shrugged.
The taunts resumed. “SARAH-FAITH! I GOT THE SWING! I’M BETTER THAN YOU!”
Sarah-Faith must have heard them. But as if her ears had mufflers over them, she gave a playful wink at me, extending to me an incredible fist bump, as if quietly saying, “We got this Mama! I’m OK! Let’s play!”
She played happily, choosing to disregard the chants.
The set of newspapers were held even higher.
Then, something changed in August.
I had the privilege to sit in at an Authentic Conversations workshop. It talked about being truthful to ourselves, to “show up” in tough situations, to say clean yeses and speak our intent with truth and in love. In a long chat with a mentor-friend, she probed about why I found it so hard to, at times, speak my mind, and why when I did, was plagued by worry and guilt.
The words that came out of my mouth made both our jaws drop. “I want people to like me. And I want to be nice… most, if not all the time.”
As the words landed, I heard them chink on the tiled floor.
“Did you just hear yourself, Wai Jia?”
Silence.
“So why is it so hard to be authentic?”
“Because it’s uncomfortable for me.”
“And what is the price of being inauthentic?”
Silence.
“I feel… shame. I feel stained by inaction. Then I hate a part of myself. And I live with the burden, that awful weight of incredible shame.”
Tears.
Suddenly it became clear, that the toughest conversation I needed to have- was not at the office, or hospital or in marriage, but the one at the playground.
That weekend, I said, “Sarah-Faith, you’ve been very brave. It’s time that Mama be brave for you too.”
That day, we walked towards the playground, certain that they would not be there on a Sunday evening. But my heart stopped when I heard the exclamation, “SARAH-FAITH IS HERE!” The other girl screamed from afar.
A set of newspapers, held high to the sky, were seen from a distance.
As if clouded by a beautiful grace, Sarah-Faith walked bravely ahead, set up her make-believe ice cream shop and sold one to every child that came by, choosing to ignore the taunts. Tears welled behind my eyes.
The girl came full throttle at Sarah-Faith, pursuing her. The newspapers were held up higher.
“I AM SOOOO MUCH BETTER, BETTER THAN YOU!” The voice came from the high point of the tower at the playground. It was petulant, triumphant, ringing high into the sky.
Something in me awoke and arose. It was not anger.
My authentic self emerged and I said gently but firmly, “My dear, we do want to play with you. But if you carry on with hurtful words, I will not allow you to play with my children. And I will tell your mother.”
My voice was restrained, far softer than her taunting, but suddenly, her mother stormed over.
Why are you talking to my child. What did you say. What is going on. Why didn’t you tell me first. Your child is competitive. They rub each other both ways. That’s why she brings out the worst in mine.
Instead of cowering or pretending to smile or be polite whenever she had advice to give about my parenting, this time, I showed up.
I explained the facts. That while her child had repeatedly used hurtful taunts, Sarah-Faith had not once retaliated or said a mean word back. Her child had physically hurt Sarah-Faith by forcefully prying her fingers one by one off a swing, shoving her off, even when the next swing was empty. Even when she was close by.
I went back to the Authentic Conversations workshop, dug deep, took a deep breath to ground myself, and stated facts, gently but firmly.
“Next time you have anything to say, make sure you tell me and not my child. I can’t be trailing my child when she has social skills to mingle with other children already at her age! You shouldn’t bubble wrap your children.”
They left in a huff.
That night, I could not sleep. I journalled into the wee hours of the morning.
But the story does not end here. Two days later, as I prayed, I felt God say, “You have spoken in truth. Now is the time to act in love.” A mother-mentor friend of mine inspired me to consider what it means to love our enemies.
The next evening, the little girl glued herself to her precious swing. The newspapers were missing. Her mother pushed her the whole time.
The scales of my eyes fell and I saw a little girl, just desperate for her mother’s attention- taunting Sarah-Faith must have seemed to have been the only way to achieve what she wanted, undivided attention from her mother, even if it was a lecture.
I saw a tired mother, whose only time to herself and escape from her world through the news headlines, was that hour at the playground.
That night, I drafted a text message that said, “Thank you for watching over T. SF and I appreciate it very much. T has been gracious to us before on a number of occasions. Please let us know how we can help to make things better for both our families.”
As soon as I drafted the text, I refused to send it.
At once, God brought to my mind a conversation I had with Sarah-Faith several months ago when the taunting first happened. Incidentally, we were learning the verse, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” that week. (Romans 12:21)
Even back then, she had said, “Mama, I think if we make T a card, maybe that will help her feel better.”
I clicked send.
What I said to Cliff over dinner made his eyes wide like the plates on the table. “Could you buy me two boxes of mooncakes? The really nice, expensive kind from Fairmount Hotel? Sarah-Faith and I feel God wants us to bless them.”
The following evening was filled with prayer. “Dear God, help us to bless our friends and have a good time. Amen,” said Sarah-Faith.
It was also, very awkward.
As we walked towards the duo and another family, my heart raced. Sarah-Faith dragged her feet but agreed to say hello. I saw the girl’s mother bristle, her body posture tightening with defense.
“Sarah-Faith was very excited about Mid-Autumn festival this year and she wanted to buy mooncakes for her friends at the playground. We hope you’ll enjoy them.”
A visible delight pulsed through the mother. Her face, though masked, was filled with surprise. “Wow,” she said, “This is…” At a loss for words, she kept saying over and over, “These are so expensive. They must be so expensive.”
Minutes later, her older daughter returned with a box of homemade mooncakes.
“These are for you.”
My eyes brimmed with tears.
God was faithful, and He had come through for us. He showed us in tangible ways, that truly, we can overcome all things with good.
Looking back at what I had learned being authentic and “showing up” in tough conversations, I wish I had learned these skills a decade ago.
I thought to share what I learned here:
1. That it is important to share your intent. Be kind but brave.
In this case, I could have said, “I can see that T desperately wants SF to be her playmate. And I desire for our children to play well together.”
2. When at a loss for words, use “I think”, “I feel”, “I want/need.
In this case, I could have said, “ I feel sad for T when she wants to play but I can’t allow SF to do so because she will be taunted. I need your help to play a more proactive stance in watching T because her language is hurtful and impacts other children negatively.”
3. Use “I can see….” And “Help me understand…”
In this case, I could have said, “I can see you’re uncomfortable with me approaching T to defend my child. I can also see that you’re a mother who loves children and who doesn’t condone bullying behaviour. Could you help me understand how we can make this situation better?”
These are the hardest things to say.
And even harder to receive with calmness and clarity are the furious replies that might follow.
I learned, that while we can control our responses, we cannot control how others might towards us.
The truth is, as much as I felt I had showed up for Sarah-Faith, as much as she said she had a great day, I did not sleep well that night.
Over and over the scenario played out in my mind and what I wished I should have said.
That is probably the one reason why so many of us avoid the tough conversations we most need to have.
We are afraid of not getting it perfect. We are afraid of the mess that follows.
So we avoid. Its easier to avoid the potential fallout than to deal with an icky, gooey mess.
The truth is, if we accept that we won’t do it 100% right, that might help change our perspective. For the key is not so much to nail the bulls eye, as much as it is to have the courage to show up and be present.
Because showing up is brave. We become connected to who we are, and become who we are meant to be.
I did not nail it. The conversation did not end perfectly. I wished I had refuted her demands and stated plain my ask for her to be more present for her child so I did not have to parent three. I wished. I wished.
But I left with a sense of freedom and lightness, knowing I was, in essence, true to myself.
The shame evaporated. I had spoken up. I had showed up not only for Sarah-Faith, but for myself.
T now knows that while her mother might permit her behavior, I do not, when it affects my child.
The past weeks have been different. T’s mother no longer reads the paper much at the playground but plays with her. T no longer finds joy in taunting Sarah-Faith. Our families can talk and play together again, albeit still a little cautiously.
If there has been a tough situation you’re avoiding, remember, it’s not about nailing it 100%. Showing up is half the battle. Learning and applying those questions above in the right contexts is the other half.
It may go well. It may go badly. But I’m learning that the key principle is to remain true to who you are and what you stand for.
You can’t run away to another playground forever.
Choose courage. Choose authenticity.
You don’t deserve to live in shame. That’s the very least you owe yourself.
And most of all, know that you can trust yourself to speak truth AND act in love at the same time.
You can trust, that with God’s grace, courage and kindness can make all the difference.
“BE BRAVE MAMA. BECAUSE GOD IS IN YOUR HEART.”
That’s what my four-year old taught me.
