How an Improv Acting Class Made Me a Better Mom

I could hear myself like an echo. I could see my tired reflection in the mirror beneath the glaring fluorescent lights. I looked gray. My voice sounded strained, like I was gasping for air or maybe just grasping at straws trying to get my kids to listen to me so we could get the heck out of there. I wondered if there were people standing on the other side of the secluded dressing room curtain listening to me. I wondered what they thought as I judged myself for the words coming out of my mouth. For the tone of my voice. For my lack of control. For expecting 2 overly tired boys to be interested in the idea of finding and trying on multiple articles of clothing to wear to a wedding. For the chaos that was unfolding before me and the lack of control I had over it.

They had chased each other around the store, toppling over the stroller and all that was hanging from the handles. They had hidden in clothing racks...and nothing will make me drop everything and run to them and yell their names louder and faster than one (or both) of my kids hiding in a rack of clothing. And they know that. It's a knee-jerk reaction when they dive into the clothes that makes my eyes dart around to make sure no one can grab them, and I think the unthinkable thoughts of human trafficking, kidnapping, etc. as my stress level goes from level 5 to 100 in the blink of an eye. Once rescued from the racks, their hands then moved on to hitting, pinching and punching. Legs were kicking things that legs shouldn't kick. A rack was pulled off the wall, and as I attempted to fix it, the 2 year old, donning a navy sport coat with tags, scurried to the next aisle laughing...probably at how foolish I looked. In general I was a bull in a china shop grunting and pouncing to get hold of my children. My sweet, angelic children, in SO many wonderful moments, I swear (especially when they are asleep). But this was not one of those moments.

And if I'm being honest and transparent - which I always try to be - I wasn't helping them or the situation by raising my voice. They clearly were past the point of listening. It's just a shame that not one of us in the moment realized just how tired each of us really were.

The way they were behaving is not indicative to their character. It is not an accurate account of their kind nature and gentlemanly manners and qualities that they so often display. It was simply two brothers being kids. Loud, rambunctious, albeit disruptive and disobedient kids, but kids. Messing with each other (and with me), trying to do anything but the one thing I needed [read: wanted] them to do. And the way I was behaving is not a fair representation of my parenting efforts and the way I interact with them in most other moments. It is the very reason I don't judge other women when I see them at the park or the grocery store befalling the same quicksand.

So there I stood in the dressing room with a pile of seemingly adorable outfits that coordinated perfectly, yet everything just then seemed imperfect, when it hit me. I was trying too hard to gain something that in that moment was unattainable. And in the grand scheme of life, buying new clothes for an event wasn't really that big of a deal when you consider what is happening in the realm of our world. I had a choice to make in how to proceed. There was a piece of me that wanted to throw it all on the counter, buy it all, then decide when I got home what they'd wear and return everything we didn't need (maybe on a Saturday morning when I could quietly go by myself and stop for coffee). Or I could have pushed on, and chosen sizes and colors as they continued to complain and run about the 5 sq. ft. changing stall. Or I could just leave it all there. Like everything. The clothes, the attitude, the yelling, the tears. Let it all go. Knowing full well I'd have to come back another day and try again. I could keep pleading with them to listen, reprimanding them with warnings and punishments to come, or I could just be silent. It was a teachable moment. For us all. Teaching them to overcome frustrations by letting them go. And them teaching me the same.

So I did what I learned in an Improv Acting class a long time ago. I made a strong choice. I got quiet. It's funny how certain parts of your life resurface in the most unexpected of situations. There's an old acting exercise where 2 people deliver simple lines in a scene. The lines are something about the weather, but the words aren't what's important. It's the emotion nuanced behind them. I have seen 100 different actors deliver the same lines 100 or more times and have said them my fair share as well. And every time it was different. If a scene was heated, we'd cut to those lines, and you'd observe two people yelling...about the weather. If a scene was full of sorrow, we'd cut to those lines, and you'd see someone sobbing...about rain. And on and on. But eventually the energy in the scene would shift ever so slightly, and we'd pick up where we left off. Think about it. If 2 people in a scene (or in life), whether it be 2 adults, 2 children, parent/child, etc., are yelling at one another, there is no arc. There is no where for the scene to move. No where for resolution to meet. The loudness is there, but the dialogue is lost, as is the attention from your audience. No one is listening.

And that's exactly what was happening to me and my kids.

In all the muffled yelling and frustrated sighs, my dialogue was lost.

But there is a way for energy to shift.

There is a way for a calmness to overcome frustrations.

If one person goes quiet, the other person has no choice but to also get quieter. Think about it. How awkward would it be if you're watching a movie and one actor is barely whispering, but the other is screaming. It might work for a sentence or two but ultimately, they need to be on the same level. If you've ever been in an argument and everyone is yelling and one person goes to a softer level, the other person will either continue to yell until they cry, or release some other truth within them either physically or mentally, or they will soften their bravado. So the scene (on stage or in your own life) may go from yelling and anger, frustration, and tears, to a quiet softness, which in turn, leads to slower and more contemplative understanding.

And the conversation moves.

The scene moves.

But more importantly, everything and everyone moves forward.

And that's how parenting can be. We must move the arc of the discussions with our children, or they quickly lose interest.

So that’s what I did. I went quiet. I spoke to them in softened tones and may have even managed a smile. It disarmed them. They were brought to a space where they could let go of defiance. I was giving them nothing to defy, and everything to release it all. We spoke with our words (imagine that!) of how the next few minutes would go down. If memory serves, it included a much needed blood-sugar resurgence in the form of a pretzel on the way out of the mall after we selected the clothing and calmly left the premises.

And you know what? It worked. Holy Moses it really worked. I felt calmer. They felt calmer. And they fell asleep in the car on the way home, becoming once again the little angels I know so well.

Pretty sure I passed out on the couch when they were safely in their beds.

Ever have one of those days? How do you go about switching the energy? I’d love to learn more tactics! Comment below.

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