Episode 26: Big Feelings and Behavior Management (01/07/2021)

Hey y’all. Welcome to Fast Facts for Gen Z. I’m your host, Callie, and I don’t know anything about anything. Come with me on my exploration of the world, and I’ll tell you everything you ever, and never, wanted to know, through the eyes of Gen Z.

Today’s episode: the way children process their own big feelings and what constitutes a success.

At the camp where I work, we place a lot of emphasis on teaching staff behavior management skills. Out in the woods with a group of thirty kids for ten hours a day, five days a week, situations inevitably arise that require a lot of behavior management skills. There are the typical meltdowns after a camper decides that a game was absolutely not fair, and the days where you cannot convince a camper to eat their snack, no matter how exhausted and hungry they are. There are also more challenging times, like when a camper refuses to walk under any circumstances and you can’t even hear yourself think over their screaming, or when a pair of campers absolutely cannot be in sight of each other or else they will get into a fight. These are the survive moments, when all you want to do is make it through the next five minutes without somebody getting hurt. Any parent will be familiar with survival moments, or even survival days. And while they are absolutely stressful and frustrating, I look back on those days with a kind of nostalgia.

The nostalgia comes from the knowledge that any survive moment is also an opportunity to help both you and the camper thrive. This camp bases a lot of their behavior management philosophy on the books The Whole Brain Child and No-Drama Discipline by Daniel J. Siegel and Tina Payne Bryson, and in those books, the authors emphasize that if we approach survival moments from a whole-brain, compassionate perspective, we can help ourselves and the child understand the emotions that lead to misbehavior and how to process and deal with them better.

Of course, it’s easy to read a book where every temper tantrum turns into a loving, perfect child-caregiver moment where everything is sunshine and roses. It’s easy to read a book that seems to promise a cure-all for every behavior management scenario a child throws your way. But in reality, when there’s trash everywhere, everyone is screaming, and all you want is for someone to sit still and put their shoes on, it’s really, really hard to use the skills in the book. It doesn’t always work perfectly. Now, this podcast is a piece of media, and the media is really really good at making things look like sunshine and roses if you just do this one thing, so I’m going to tell you a story of when things did go perfectly. Then, in the effort of making this podcast a little bit more realistic, I’ll also tell you a story about a time when I completely failed. Sound good? Let’s get into it.

Picture this: I’m sixteen years old, halfway through the summer, on my third straight week of little-kid-camp. The age groups are either 5-7 or 8-12, and I am absolutely more comfortable with the 8-12 year olds. So, three weeks with little kid camp was very challenging for me. We were trying to get everyone ready for water time: swimsuits, sunscreen, everything packed up, the whole shebang. And, because otherwise this wouldn’t be a story, this particular day was a complete disaster. Everything was moving slower than usual, but we were managing, until suddenly, it felt like everything exploded. As one camper began to throw a fit about not being able to find their shoes, another picked up a bandanna that was marking a yellow jacket nest, and then a pair of siblings got into a fight that looked like it was about to turn physical. As much as I would like to pitch myself as the best camp counselor ever, I was completely and entirely overwhelmed. Worst of all, in front of me stood my favorite camper ever (what, we don’t have favorites, nooo), this little tow-headed boy who I’ll call Jack who adored otters and always wanted to hold my hand. As our camp group spun out of control, he stood completely still, looking up at me with his shining little-kid eyes, holding his sunscreen and patiently waiting for me to put it on for him. Love that kid. In the midst of the chaos, something was going to have to give, and unfortunately, Jack was going to have to find somebody else to do his sunscreen, because I felt strongly that I was needed elsewhere.

Next comes the proudest moment of my entire life. Instead of getting flustered and not being especially effective, a common Callie moment that my coworkers know well, I took a step back, surveyed the scene unfolding before me, and made a plan.

The camper with the yellow jackets was my first target. A yellow jacket swarm is a very real, very immediate danger, especially to very small children, so that was my first priority. I definitely scared him when I bolted over, because he didn’t know he had done anything wrong, but I checked myself and apologized and explained the danger. He was just trying to be helpful and return the bandanna to its rightful owner! Luckily, no yellow jackets were disturbed in the making of this chaos. I laid the bandanna back down and ushered the camper back to safety. Luckily, while I was doing that, another counselor had helped with the shoe temper tantrum, so I could turn my attention to the arguing siblings. Just in time too, because when I looked up, the youngest had balled up his little four-year-old fist and hit his brother on the back. That was wayyyy past time for me to step in, but better late than never, so step in I did.

Four is usually too young for our camp, but we sometimes make exceptions if we can put an older sibling or best friend in the same group. I’ll call these kids Will, the four-year-old, and Elijah, the seven-year-old. I started walking over to them as Elijah turned to me with frustration written all across his face, ready to shout, “He hit me!” I got there before he could, putting myself in between the two and stopping the argument where it stood. As soon as his access to Elijah was blocked, Will broke into tears and curled into a ball on a bench, hiding his face. I asked Elijah what had happened, and he tried to explain, but I could tell that he didn’t really know. Unsurprisingly, four-year-olds are not the best at explaining why they are mad while they are mad. So, I sent Elijah off to get his sunscreen put on while I talked to Will, planning to bring them back together later.

And so began what we call a “reroute.” A reroute is a behavior management technique where you stop a behavior, connect with the child’s emotions and needs, and work with the child to come up with a mutually beneficial solution while still setting boundaries and expressing that the behavior was unacceptable. This plan in mind, I sat down on the ground next to the bench, and started trying to connect with Will.

There, I experienced my first roadblock. Will absolutely, one hundred percent, did not want to talk to me. At all. Wouldn’t speak. This, as you can imagine, made it kind of hard to understand why he was mad. Actually, very hard. So, I started making guesses.

“Will you tell me what happened?” No response. Of course not, that would be too easy. Hmm…

“Did Elijah make you mad?” An angry sound this time. It sounded like a no sound, but I knew it probably meant yes. This is progress.

“Elijah must have made you really mad.” Louder angry sound this time. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“You’re not in trouble,” I said. We don’t do trouble at camp. We want to collaborate with the campers, not make them feel like we have power and they don’t. “What did he do to make you mad?” I asked.

Slowly, Will moved into a sitting position, and I got up next to him on the bench. In his four-year-old language and understanding of the world, he explained that they had been playing a game, and Elijah had promised to pick him for something, but then he didn’t. Then they had to stop playing to get their sunscreen on, so Will never got a chance to be picked. He felt like that was unfair, and he thought that Elijah had done it on purpose. This is a problem I could absolutely work with. Now that his emotions were named and heard, and the problem was understood and validated, we could start to think about solutions.

It’s good to involve the child in the solutions process, even if their solutions are not going to work. For example, Will’s first idea was to throw a rock at Elijah. For obvious reasons, I told him that was not an option, but I understood that he was still really angry. I suggested that they spend some time apart from each other to give each other some space. Surprisingly, Will said no, he didn’t want to do that. This was an opportunity to remind him that he still loved his brother, he was just feeling angry at him, which is okay. Then, I suggested that I would go talk to Elijah and make sure he understood why Will was angry, and then they could talk to each other and see if we could come up with another solution. Will seemed satisfied with this, so I let him sit on the bench and put his water shoes on while I talked to Elijah.

During this ordeal, Elijah had dutifully gotten his sunscreen, but he looked very relieved when I came to talk to him. He had been very worried, which was sweet. I explained my understanding of the situation and asked him to retell the story so I could hear his side. He explained that he had promised to pick Will so he wouldn’t be upset, but he also wanted to be fair to the other campers, and then the game ended, and he didn’t know what to do. He felt like he hadn’t done anything wrong, but he also knew that Will was mad. He was okay with talking to Will about it, so I brought the two of them back together.

After this, I hardly needed to facilitate the conversation. I let them each tell their side of the story again, and told it back to them to make sure they knew their feelings were heard. I asked what they thought they could do to resolve it, and they weren’t sure. Here comes another hard part. I didn’t want to force either of them to apologize, because legitimately, neither of them did anything wrong until Will hit Elijah. And the only reason Will hit Elijah was because he felt overwhelmed with emotions he didn’t understand and didn’t know how to express. But, I also couldn’t think of anything else. So, I asked Will if an apology would make him feel better, and I asked Elijah if he would be okay with apologizing. Both of them said yes. And then, something miraculous happened.

Elijah said, “I’m sorry for not picking you in the game and for making you mad.” Will said thank you and it’s okay. That was expected. But then, on his own, Will said, “I’m sorry for getting mad and hitting you.” Elijah also said thank you and that it was okay. Then, they got up off the bench, hugged each other, and ran off to get their stuff and join the group. I was left standing there, jaw dropped, absolutely shocked that A) I completed a successful reroute, and B) I got brothers to apologize to each other and hug without even telling them to do it. The hug was really what got me, because it was so sweet.

That is a best-case scenario. I know because it’s the best I have ever seen a reroute go ever, and I’ve never been able to replicate it, or even close. It is unrealistic to expect things to go that well all the time, but it’s really good to know that it’s possible.

As much as I would love to let this end on a note that makes me look super good and cool, we all know that life doesn’t act like that. Ever. So, I’ll tell you another story. Don’t worry, this one has a good ending too, it just doesn’t have anything to do with me.

If you’ve ever been a camp counselor, or a teacher, or have ever worked with groups of kids, you’ll know that sometimes, there is just one kid who seems absolutely impossible. None of your tried-and-true methods seem to work, and as much as you try to be adaptable and figure out what works for them, it seems like everything you try comes up empty. This was the way with a camper I’ll call Sophia. She was five or six, and, as much as I never want to say this about a kid, was an absolute nightmare. Her signature move was not wanting to walk. Ever. At all. There are always campers who don’t want to walk, and lots of ways to make them do it, but Sophia would throw her stuff down, sit on the ground, and scream and scream and scream. Not about anything in particular. Just screaming. When she was in camp, you would occasionally hear the strained, exhausted voices of counselors coming over the radio asking for someone to trade places with them, or even for a supervisor to come help, complete with Sophia’s screaming in the background. When she was in a place, like at the river or playing a game, she was totally fine, but walking or moving when she didn’t want to was unacceptable to her.

One day, it was my turn to trade places with someone to try to convince Sophia to walk. The counselor I was replacing was the CIT mentor, who had worked nearly fifty hours that week and needed someone to take her place so she could clock out and not be legally overworked. She was exhausted. When I found the two of them on a bridge, Sophia was sitting on the side of the bridge, swinging her legs, perfectly content with not moving. My friend, on the other hand, looked about ready to cry. She updated me on what she had already tried, said that a supervisor was already on the way to help, wished me good luck, and left me with the impossible task of bringing Sophia to the rest of the group.

Well, she wasn’t screaming or crying, so I was already in a better position than a lot of people. First, I tried to connect with Sophia. I asked her about her day, what games she had played, whether she has pets, etc. I just wanted her to see me as someone who cared about her, not just about getting her to move. Baby steps, you know? She was happy to answer my questions. I asked her if she had eaten snack, and she said no. Well, that’s a great place to start! Kids are never happy or willing when they’re hungry. But, she didn’t want to walk over to her lunchbox and get a snack. That’s fine. We’re still in the connect phase. I’ll get her lunchbox for her. She complained about the food that her parents packed while she ate some crackers, and I listened quietly, waiting for an opportunity to suggest moving to join the group. Unfortunately, none came. At a loss, I fell back on my usual walking strategies. Start a conversation, start walking away while they’re talking, and they’ll follow. Well, Sophia didn’t. Okay, strike that. Next strategy. Talk about what the rest of the group is doing, and say the options of what she can do when she gets there. She wasn’t interested. Strike that as well. Walk in the direction you want to go a little bit and find something cool. A neat rock, a pretty leaf, a bug, whatever. Point it out to them. They’ll come see it. Sophia did not. She did not care. Okay. Well. I got her to drink some water and refilled her water bottle. I tried connecting a little bit more. I made absolutely no progress.

Eventually, I sort of gave up. I’m not proud to admit that, but it was a survive moment. I was out of strategies and energy, and didn’t know what to do. I settled on continuing to try connecting with Sophia until a supervisor got there.

Then, like a shining light in the dark, an answer arrived. Not in the form of an authority figure, but in the form of a CIT. The CITs, counselors-in-training, are teenagers ages 13-15 who do leadership training and help around camp. Some are like miniature counselors, some are like big campers, but all are helpful in their own ways. I literally do not even remember which CIT this was, but I know it was a girl and I’m going to call her Taylor. Taylor arrived on her way to join the rest of our group, and Sophia jumped up and ran over to her and hugged her. I was speechless, and so excited. Sophia asked where Taylor was going, and said, “I want to walk with you!” At this point, I was not about to jeopardize this by making Sophia do something, so I grabbed her backpack and followed behind them, still staring at Taylor in wonder.

The point of this story is that you never know what effect you have on other people. Taylor is the only person I’ve ever seen that Sophia was willing to walk for, and I have no idea why or how. I’ve been that person for other kids, and I have no idea why or how. I’ve had people like that, that could make me do something I didn’t want to do without even realizing it, and I don’t know why or how. The relationships we build with other people, even unconsciously, are really important.

There are a lot of conscious things you can do to help with behavior management. You can validate feelings, connect all day long, come up with solutions that will benefit everyone. You can try commands, though that will just make everybody sad, even if it works. Some of you might wonder why I didn’t just tell Sophia she had to get up and walk and that she didn’t have another option, or threaten to call her parents. Believe me, if that would have worked, I would have tried it. But that would have just made us both upset and made her want to move less. Anyway.

You can be the best caregiver in the entire world, and sometimes things simply will not work. You won’t know why. It will be frustrating. You will feel like the frustration makes it worse, and that will be frustrating too. That’s okay. Some survive moments will be easy to turn into thrive moments, and some will not, without any rhyme or reason. I was overwhelmed and stressed out and surrounded by chaos with Elijah and Will, and it turned into the best behavior management moment I’ve ever had. I had all my wits about me and was quiet and alone with Sophia, and couldn’t get her to move an inch. There’s no telling. But, in my book, even my failed moment with Sophia was somewhat of a success, because in the end, she moved, and she was happy, even if it had nothing to do with me. We survived. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

Thank you for listening to Fast Facts for Gen Z. I know this was a long one. I had a lot to say. I could fill hours and hours with camp stories, so if you liked this one, I have plenty more! I’m recording this on New Year’s Eve, so happy new year. This is Callie, signing off.