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CHAPTER THREE
The Holding Environment
Each classroom is equipped with a rich array of challenging objects to
stir a child’s imagination and to enhance cognitive and developmental
skills. A child usually works individually, with his teacher
supportively nearby, unless there is a group activity. The learning of
cognitive skills is not separated from the development of living in the
world skills which originates from self-love, self-esteem, from the
child’s psychological and emotional well being..
Young children learn about themselves through their interactions with
the important people in their lives. It is unnatural for children to
separate learning from living. For them it is a seamless experience.
That is why great care must be given to the quality of life we create
for children.
It is not enough to direct one’s attention to a child’s brain, the
child’s heart, spirit, and being, the whole person must also be valued
and nourished. For a child to be capable of expressing love, respect
and creativity in the world, a substantial diet of these
playing/learning/living experiences are needed.
The essential lesson that must be learned at home and in school is that
the child is valued, loved, respected and accepted for the unique
individual each child is. These are the necessary ingredients which
activate the child’s innate potential. They are integrated into the
breath and heartbeat of our teaching. From this fertile ground all
other forms of learning emerge.
Lest the reader thinks that I am recommending a permissive, yielding
environment, one that is not reality based, I am not. Reality mandates
limits, which provide a necessary structure for experience.
When limits are allied with a child’s growth needs they bring clarity,
boundaries, meaning and values to a child’s experience. They provide
the indispensable friction which helps define a child’s developing
self-awareness. However, the useful meaning of limits can become
obscured when they are given as reactive expressions of frustration or
anger with the child. Under these circumstances a child may infer that
s/he is intrinsically ‘bad’ or unworthy, instead of learning that a
particular behavior may be undesirable. Therefore, it is important to
consider what the right or useful action is in any situation.
The heart of our work is our awareness that all our interactions, that
is interventions, are meant to be useful gentle 'energy frictions'.
They are intended to be the 'right medicine' in response to the
moment's calling.
Energy frictions challenge children's sometimes rigid, destructive
self-beliefs. Such beliefs can include: 'I'm bad, stupid, worthless,
unlovable, ugly, nobody likes me, nobody wants to play with me'
feelings which are likely to emerge in our work.
Children's behaviors as well as verbal communications challenge
teachers and therapists to be sensitively attuned to children's
revelations. Listening with one's whole person, not one's mind alone,
empowers intuition, insight, and the right healing response.
The use of surprise is one way to energize a moment's intervention,
while also creating disequilibrium in a child's habitual way of
responding. The use of loving surprise creates openings for fresh new
energy to enter the child's experiencing self, and for the potential
for new growth to begin to emerge.
When continuously applied, loving surprise is the equivalent of
applying soft balm to a child's emerging self. It is tantamount to
providing gentle 'shock treatments' which in the course of time
undermines the child's negative self- perceptions, and therefore,
assists the child to discover himself in a new welcoming world.
I'm thinking of Ian, a profoundly confused child, seriously
disturbed, who is easily triggered to become oppositional. He recently
took a liking to Jon, a child in another area. He frequently says to
his teacher, "Go to Jon", often at times when he cannot be accomodated.
When he cannot immediately go to see his new friend, he becomes
fiercely angry and oppositional.
After discussing this situation with his teacher, we decided to
surprise Ian. The next morning as soon as Ian was settled in his area,
his teacher followed my suggestion by saying, "You know who you are
going to visit now? Jon! You're going to play a lotto game with him!"
Ian's face instantly brightened with delight, his connection to his
teacher also deepening in that moment. Hand in hand, they went to see
Jon in his area. Jon's teacher was ready to welcome Ian. The lotto game
was already set-up.
From previous experience, we know it is likely that Ian will not want
to leave Jon to return to his area. We know he is likely to protest
fiercely, and possibly tantrum. It is important to note though, that
while Ian appears deeply invested, he is at this point, only invested
superficially. He demands object after object without any real interest
in any, since he is not yet genuinely connected to himself, or to
anyone. This is not surprising. Though Ian does not know it yet, the
most important person for him to connect to is his teacher. Our
responsibility is to help Ian discover this himself through his
teacher's caring way of being with him.
For this reason, his teacher joins Ian in the area with Jon. They've
been playing together for one half hour, Jon's teacher, supervising.
Ian's teacher says to him, "Looks like you're having a good time
playing with Jon. You know who wants to be with you now, ME! Wait till
you see what we're going to do in our area - your favorite thing!"
(what the thing was was never even mentioned!)
The injection of loving energy surprised Ian, opening
something in him that was formerly closed, causing him to spontaniously
take his teacher's extended hand, as together, he peacefully returned
to his area.
Recently, a teacher shared the following situation with me: While she
was working on a cognitive task with a child she at the same time
adjusted a belt she was wearing. The child observing what she was doing
inquired, “You gonna beat me with the belt?” whereupon the teacher
responded with gentle concern, “I hear what you think. I’m fixing my
belt and you think I want to hurt you with it. I don’t want to hurt
you. That’s not something I do.”
Here the child begins to discover that his assumption that all people
beat children with belts may not be true. His very question to his
teacher suggests that he has begun to trust her. But it also suggests
his bewilderment. There appears to be no understanding of cause and
effect, of why he is beaten. His teacher was helping him with a
cognitive task, she touched her belt, and unconsciously, he transferred
his expectation of being beaten to her.
The child’s behavior is an expression of his limited perception of
reality. He knows he gets beaten, but he is often unaware of what he
did to be considered so ‘bad’.
The teacher’s unreserved acceptance of a child’s feelings, her empathy,
creates openings in the child’s defensive and aggressive stance in the
world prompting the child’s view of self and world to shift. What a
child reveals through behavior and fantasy play (some children are so
emotionally knotted they are unable to play or fantasize when they
begin Beachbrook) becomes the teacher’s opportunity for healing
intervention.
Therefore, the teacher is disposed to receive the child exactly as he
or she is. All emotions and feelings arise out of the child’s
interpretation of experience and are not judged good or bad. Within a
safe holding environment, one that is ready to receive the child as he
is, the child’s troubled feelings and emotions surface as toxic energy
to be expelled, clarified, lived through to conclusion, accepted and
digested.
Understanding that a child’s troubled behavior is an expression of his
fragmented and wounded way of being, when a child enters into a violent
outburst no effort is made to distract him from his course. It is
precisely this violent energy which needs expression, healing, and
transformation.
A safe clearing is made for the child, either within the child’s area
or elsewhere in the room. Peers are cared for by an aide or another
teacher in the room. Classroom activities usually take place with
little notice given to tantruming behavior once children have
observed the care a child is receiving, or have tantrumed themselves.
A child may be on the floor kicking and screaming with his teacher
sitting quietly nearby. His profound external upset is reflective of
the turmoil of his inner world. Even though it may be directed at his
teacher she is aware that it is not a personal assault.
His teacher may offer soft objects to be thrown in a stipulated
direction (thereby maintaining control even in a situation that appears
out of control) or newspaper to tear as an alternative means of venting
emotion. Often the child rejects these offers in favor of directing his
rageful attacks upon his teacher. He may try to kick, punch, pull her
hair, and spit at her. Lost in the throes of releasing primordial
pent-up fear, rage, heartbreak and confusion, he paradoxically strikes
out against his teacher, the essential person who has committed her
life to his. Her ability to be empathic to the child at these times is
crucial to the healing process.
She must remove the child’s shoes to soften possible blows and firmly,
yet non aggressively, empathically hold the child ensuring his safety
and her own. Sometimes a child is so strong, more than one person is
needed to help hold and contain the child. Not only the child’s body
needs holding and containing, but his feelings and emotions need to be
received and held as well. In extreme situations I may be called for my
assistance.
Edward
I recall a day when I received such a phone call on my intercom. I
dropped what I was doing and headed for the Yellow Room. There on the
floor were two teachers struggling to contain a big, kicking, flailing,
loudly crying, four years and nine months old Edward. In size he looked
at least a year older than he was.
I was struck by how gentle, yet firm, his teacher was with him, her
face conveying care and concern for Edward as she tried to physically
hold him. He appeared distraught, lost in inner space, wildly out of
control, tears flowing from his eyes as streams of mucous flowed from
his nostrils into his mouth, while he vehemently shook his head and
refused tissues. Viewing Edward from an emotional distance one might
feel revolted. Entering his world, it would be difficult not to feel
immense sadness and grief.
Edward is a much loved child at Beachbrook. He naturally opens people’s
hearts. In the much too short year and three months that he has been
with us, he has attained considerable growth. When he first arrived, he
appeared completely lost to reality. His speech was no more than
rambling idiosyncratic sounds interspersed with unrelated phrases. He
expressed non-stop violence throughout his stay in school, a seemingly
lost, mad little boy.
At last his sad gentleness began to shine through. He is much more
related to his immediate surroundings. His sentences reflect his
growing connection to his world. He is able to briefly focus on some
activities. Yet he once again needed to journey into dark, painful
places, to release again the poisons, to integrate and take in fresh,
healing energy, and to work to make himself a whole boy. Even while he
hurled his convulsed body about, he clearly tried to avoid hurting his
gentle teacher.
From what we have known about Edward’s life at home, we believe that he
feels abandoned, unloved, bewildered, punished and intrinsically bad
and untrustworthy. He is undeservedly considered stupid. We know him to
be bright, courageous and responsive. Our knowledge increases our love
and compassion for him.
Seeing the teachers as they labored to contain Edward, I realized that
he did not feel secure. The holding environment seemed too loose. His
ability to wriggle and squirm out of it undermined his confidence in
his teacher’s ability to supportively contain him. He needed a tighter,
more secure fit in order to feel safe, in order to completely let go. I
sent for our social worker, a large gentle man, with a soft, open
heart, who also sees Edward for play therapy twice a week for half an
hour, an important support for the teacher’s work with Edward.
Within minutes he joined us. I asked him to hold Edward. Once in his
containing arms, Edward struggled in vain for timeless minutes,
screaming, tears and mucous streaming over his reddened face. His
teacher and I sat before him, silent witnesses to his grief and
heartbreak. The pain flowed from his body entering ours. We three
received it, held it, made of the moment a sacred thing. Edward at last
surrendered, allowed his body to go limp and sank deeply into our
social worker’s lap. There he rested contentedly for some time. He
accepted a tissue from his teacher who helped him wipe his face.
We sat together in silence, breathing deeply, grateful that peace had
come at last to Edward.
The ending of such an event is especially important. It is imperative
that it not be hurried, that there be time to deeply absorb the
learning, to digest its meaning, its transformative energy, before a
new activity is introduced. These are moments of our quietly being
together, moments of pure silence, and perhaps a simple statement from
his teacher to bring meaning and closure.
There are times, particularly with an oppositional child, when after a
prolonged outburst of rage and grief, (possibly forty-five or more
minutes) during which the child is violent, screams, cries demanding
one object after another – as though his life depended on it – a
teacher may be tempted to respond to the child’s eventual tentative
surrender to her care by acceding to the child’s last-gasp whimpering
command.
This is a pivotal moment of great danger. The entire meaning of the
experience, which is, that the child can entrust himself to his
teacher’s care may be lost if the teacher in her misguided sympathy, as
distinct from wise empathy, misses the challenge of the moment and
gives the child the object. She must have the strength (and the child’s
best interest) to maintain the holding environment a little longer,
long enough for the child’s complete surrender to her caring authority.
This enables the child to discover that it is safe to surrender and be
the little child s/he is. The teacher may respond to the child’s last
ditch uncertain command by saying, “I see you want to have _______. As
soon as I think you’re ready to have it, I will give it to you...” By
responding this way, she helps to make her alliance with the child
clearer to the child, while at the same time securing the holding
environment. When the child has come to complete stillness and is no
longer asking for or demanding anything, the desired object should be
offered. Often it is no longer needed!
To return to our discussion of Edward. Our social worker was called to
hold Edward two more times in the same week. Each time, in his arms,
Edward abandoned himself to the pain that was tormenting him, with his
teacher facing him, sitting silently and empathically near him. Each
time there was a long and nurturing closure. Edward seemed to take deep
comfort in the arms of our social worker. He, deeply moved by Edward’s
struggle, wiped silent tears from his own eyes.
During the time of Edward’s great emotional upheavals, I arranged to
meet privately with his seriously estranged parents. They had been
unable to attend our Parent Group meetings run by our social worker and
me.
From my conversation with Edward’s parents, I could see that the
purpose of our meeting frightened them. They anticipated hearing
complaints against their son. I soon let them know that nothing could
be further from my intention. I wanted them to know that we were
extremely concerned for Edward, that we saw him as a brokenhearted
child, in emotional pain and turmoil, and very much in need of tender
loving care.
Edward’s father, who inconsistently sees his son, presented situations
which aroused hot physical rage against Edward. He felt disrespected by
Edward’s lack of immediate compliance to his commands, such as, “Sit
here now!” I suggested that he make an effort to see and understand experience from Edward’s point of view. I offered several
possibilities for Edward’s reluctance to comply with his father’s
dictatorial behavior. His father appeared dumbstruck and fascinated. He
said plaintively, “I don’t know anything about being a father. This is
my first child.”
Edward’s mother sat silently and sullenly most of the time. She
appeared to be listening intently. There was obvious hurt, pain, anger
and disappointment between the parents, but especially in Edward’s
mother. The father didn’t seem to have the slightest understanding of
his wife’s feelings. With charm and playful humor he attempted to
discount what she shared. She needed help and support from her husband.
I saw no sign that she was likely to get that kind of attention.
I succeeded in arousing concern in Edward’s parents, nipping in the bud
their disposition to blame their son for his problems. I was impressed
by the youth of Edward’s parents, their own bewildered hurt
vulnerability, and need for intelligent nurturing. Edward’s mother
began to walk her son into school (up until then the bus usually
brought him). This new effort from his mother helped to start Edward’s
day brightly.
Six weeks passed without any recurrences of severe emotional outbursts.
Edward became more centered, rooted in reality, peaceful, though sad,
and better able to direct his attention to cognitive activities for
longer periods of time.
However, we might have contributed significantly more to his growth had
Edward entered Beachbrook when he was three instead of four. A
year at Beachbrook is a very short time for a child
burdened with such serious emotional problems. As graduation
approached, Edward knew his time at Beachbrook would soon be ending.
Some of his disturbed behavior reoccurred again at going home time. It
required great effort to put Edward on the bus to go home.
His wish to remain in school was no stronger than our own. But Edward
was compelled to leave before our work together was completed.
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| BEACHBROOK
THERAPEUTIC NURSERY SCHOOL |