When our children struggle with pain and disappointment, we are often tempted to jump in with advice. We may also investigate, correct, lecture, or even get angry about the choices that contributed to their trouble.
There is a better way to help our children heal, honor their agency, and learn from their experience. When children are hurting, our first task is not to investigate, correct, or advise. It is to understand. Before offering counsel, we can offer compassion. We can listen to their hearts.
If my son gets into trouble at school, I might say, “Ouch. That sounds like a terrible experience.” If my daughter is wounded by the cruelty of a friend, I might respond, “Oh, sweetheart, that must feel awful.”
Then I stop.
I listen rather than taking over the conversation with my stories, judgments, or advice. Compassion does not require many words. Often one simple statement, followed by patient silence, is enough.
The common parental temptation is to say far too much. We tell about our own painful experiences, explain what the child did wrong, or offer an immediate solution.
But a good doctor first attends to a patient’s injury. The doctor does not begin by describing his own accidents or lecturing the patient about being more careful. He focuses on the patient’s wounds.
In the same way, when we attend carefully to a child’s pain, we create the safety in which healing and learning can begin. We should not conduct the accident investigation while the patient is still bleeding.
Imagine your son coming home from school, slumped and sullen. My first reaction might be to blurt out, “What’s wrong with you?”
We can all predict the response to that blunt query.
“Nothing.”
He might add, “Leave me alone,” as he retreats to his room.
But when we listen to his heart, we find a better way to respond. Noticing his obvious pain, we might say, “It looks like you’ve had a bad day.”
And then we stop. We give him a chance to share as much—or as little—as he chooses. We watch and listen.
Maybe he decides to trust us.
“Today on the bus, everyone was acting crazy and running around. The bus driver got mad. He stopped the bus, came back, grabbed me, and started yelling at me.”
A situation like this tests even a loving parent. Our minds naturally begin gathering evidence, assigning blame, and preparing a solution.
One possible reaction is to blame the child.
“Yeah, like you didn’t do anything. Why did the driver pick on you? What were you doing that made him blame you?”
That response is unlikely to yield good fruit. The child may resolve never to share the truth with us again.
A second reaction is to blame the bus driver.
“What is wrong with that man? Doesn’t he know better than to pick on children? I’m going to go have some words with him!”
That response may be no more helpful. Our indignation can add heat to a child who is already overwhelmed.
The urge to investigate and assign blame is strong in all of us. Our default setting is to solve problems rather than sitting compassionately with pain. We tend to use every bit of information we receive to set the world right according to our understanding of it.
If I believe my son is regularly mistreated, I may look for evidence that the bus driver is unreasonable.
If I am often irritated with my son, I may assume that the bus driver blamed him with good reason. I begin looking for corroborating evidence.
We humans are not very objective. We are also not naturally skilled at providing emotional first aid.
Listening compassionately does not require us to decide that our child is innocent or settle the issue of guilt. Empathy is not a verdict. It simply means that we care for the wound before investigating the accident.
Investigation may be necessary. Correction may be necessary. Adult advocacy may even be necessary. But none of those should be our first response while our child is emotionally wounded.
Our first duty is to care for the child’s well-being. We try to understand the child’s feelings and minister to the hurt until peace begins to return.
We might say:
“That sounds humiliating.”
“I wonder if you felt hurt and angry.”
“You may have wished you could disappear.”
We offer our guesses lightly, allowing the child to correct us.
“No, I wasn’t embarrassed. I was furious!”
Our goal is not to name the feeling perfectly. Our goal is to show that we are trying to understand.
As we listen to the child’s heart, we advance healing. We offer our calm, our attention, and our compassion. Children often borrow our calm before they develop their own.
Once the child feels understood and begins to regain peace, we can move from emotional first aid to thoughtful learning.
We might ask:
“Would you like me just to listen, or would you like to think together about what to do next?”
If the child is ready to consider solutions, we can draw on the wisdom within him:
“You had a terrible experience today. What do you think might help tomorrow go better?”
Children often have more wisdom about their situations than we expect. When they feel understood, they are far more able to discover constructive next steps—sometimes on their own and sometimes with our help.
The child may say:
“I need to settle down on the bus.”
“I probably shouldn’t sit next to Tommy. We always get each other stirred up.”
“I should apologize to the driver.”
Or he may say:
“I really don’t think the driver should have grabbed me. Will you help me figure out what to do?”
The child’s behavior and the bus driver’s behavior may both need attention. Compassion does not prevent us from teaching responsibility or protecting our child. It simply helps us do those things wisely and at the right time.
First we understand. Then we help the child heal. After peace returns, we teach and plan.
Can you remember a time when someone responded to your pain with words of compassion?
When I was a young schoolteacher, my father once asked me how my teaching was going. I unloaded on him. I told him about the demands of preparing many subjects, the pressures from administrators and parents, and the seeming impossibility of managing so many students.
When I finished, I expected my father to say, “What you need to do is . . .”
But he didn’t.
Instead, he said with heartfelt compassion, “That must be overwhelming, Son.”
That was all he said.
He offered no easy fixes for my difficult situation. He did something more important first: he made sure I did not feel alone in it.
I still feel the warmth of his compassion. Dad listened to my heart and extended his understanding as an offering. He gave me the rare gift of empathy. Perhaps that gift is powerful partly because it requires the giver to set aside his own agenda, feelings, and history long enough to enter the experience of another person.
Years later, I do not remember any advice my father might have given me about teaching. I remember that he understood.
Our children may forget many of our instructions, but they will remember the refuge they found in our compassion.
If we want to help our children settle themselves when strong feelings arise, we must first offer them our steadiness. Listening with our hearts is far more effective than giving formulaic advice or demanding that they calm down.
It is a great gift of love.
Listening to a child’s heart does not mean granting every request. We can honor a wish without surrendering a limit.
The great psychologist Haim Ginott tells of a parent who took a child for ice cream. When asked which flavor he wanted, the child replied, “I want a scoop of every flavor!”
A parent might be tempted to respond with irritation: “I offered you an ice cream cone and now you want the whole store!”
But the parent can listen to the child’s heart while still holding a reasonable limit.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to taste every flavor? Today you may choose two. Which two would you like?”
The parent honors the child’s desire without granting unwise wishes. The limit is delivered with loving empathy.
That is the heart of soft-spoken parenting: compassion without indulgence, understanding without surrender, and connection before correction.
When Your Child Is Hurting
Notice: “You seem really upset.”
Invite: “Would you like to tell me about it?”
Understand: “That sounds painful.”
Pause: Listen without immediately investigating, correcting, or advising.
Ask: “Would you like help thinking about what to do next?”
Reflection
Think of a time when your child came to you hurt, angry, or disappointed.
What did your child most need from you?
What helped you listen without correcting or advising?
What usually makes compassionate listening difficult for you?
What sentence could help you begin next time?
Invitation
I would like you to have a copy of my most recent book which provides great truths for personal happiness, marriage, and parenting. It is titled Discoveries: Essential Truths for Relationships. I want you to have the book so much that, if you buy a copy from Deseret Book or Amazon, I will gladly send you a free copy of one of my popular books, either Drawing Heaven into Your Marriage ($14.95 value) or Modern Myths & Latter-day Truths ($16.00 value).Just email me (thewaypeoplework@gmail.com) when you have ordered Discoveries and provide me your mailing address in the US and I will promptly send you the book of your choice. Be sure to let me know which book you choose.
