I was watching my four-year-old play with her younger friend when said friend’s mom suddenly asked me, “Which age was easier? Two or three?” I responded with the generic yet genuine response of, “Neither is easier; they’re just different.” The longer answer is that two wasn’t necessarily easier than three, but it was definitely less complicated. And now three feels much simpler than where we are now. As my daughter grows, so do her ideas, her plans, and her feelings. Usually, this makes me feel nothing but wonder as I marvel in her maturity and bask in all the new little wrinkles her brain is forming. But sometimes it makes me feel simultaneously nostalgic for simpler times and anxious towards what unknowns await. Fortunately, if I ever feel like I need a good hard cry about the increasingly complicated emotions that seem more imminent each day, Pixar has provided the perfect outlet.
Inside Out tells us the story of an innocent child, Riley, growing up in Everytown USA, complete with doting parents, heartwarming memories, healthy hobbies, both real and imaginary friendships, and the total first world toddler problem of being forced to eat vegetables. Riley’s world is turned upside down when her father moves her family across the country to pursue a new business venture. I know in the grand scheme of things, moving doesn’t sound all that traumatic, but let me tell you firsthand – moving is hard. It’s not just a matter of changing location and swapping homes; it’s leaving behind a safe and comforting place that you can take for granted and starting from scratch in a strange place that simply has no potential of filling those enormous shoes of safety and comfort. This would be emotionally challenging for anyone; for a kid, it’s even more unnerving. Luckily for Riley, she has a supportive environment at home and Amy Poehler leading the way in her mind. But, as the film shows us, even that isn’t enough.
When Riley first arrives in San Francisco, she is met with disappointment after disappointment: her house doesn’t look the way she’d imagined…even the pizza is weird! Riley’s mom manages these expectations by encouraging Riley to be as cheerful and supportive as possible in order to ease everyone’s transition. Now then. Let me just say that I’m not blaming Riley’s mom here. MATM is a judgment-free blog because we’re all just doing our best (unless we’re talking about Elsa and Anna’s parents). But. This is a huge emotional burden to place on a child. In my experience, the cheery disposition coping strategy only works once the emotional trigger has been coped with and strategized through. Otherwise, it may look like this on the outside…
…but the inside is an emotional mess.
The subtext of Riley putting on a happy face for her family (i.e. suppressing complicated new feelings of loneliness, anxiety, and grief) is that she now has to confront the challenges of her new world alone. Riley experiences difficulty adjusting to her new school and worries about her old life moving on without her, and she then copes (ineffectively) with this by further isolating herself. I’ve caught myself doing this before with my daughter. I want so badly for her to be happy that I dismiss the cons, emphasize the pros, and remind her that everything’s alright. Sometimes, I’m mindful enough to remember that this redirection can come across as invalidation, and in dismissing her concerns I’m more likely pushing her away than comforting her. I’m much more effective if I stop trying to solve her problems and just listen. Each time a child shares what they’re feeling, that’s a gift. It’s our job to create environments that welcome such a gift.
Riley’s surroundings have cultivated such safety nets throughout her life, as evidenced by The Islands of Personality. These include the people most important to her, the hobby that has shaped her identity, and her favorite part of herself (Did you know you can be your own safety net? Thanks, therapy!) As Riley’s core memories become compromised and she can no longer rely on these safety nets for comfort, she literally loses herself.
Only when the adults admit that everything is not alright is Riley able to surrender to her sadness and finally feel comforted. Life’s imperfections are inevitable. As parents, it’s also important for us to realize that it’s all relative. Riley’s cross-country move was earth-shattering for her. For a small child, breaking a toy can feel just as enormous. And for that matter, events that would seem catastrophic to any person of any age occur from time to time, such as the death of a loved one. No matter how hard we parents try, we cannot change the ups and downs of life. And really, we shouldn’t want to. Even if one is lucky enough to have a great childhood, hardships in adulthood are pretty much guaranteed. Experiencing some anger, disgust, fear, and sadness along the way helps to prepare us for the inevitable challenges later on. It takes time to develop ownership of these experiences, but with enough distance, hopefully our kids will be able to honor and appreciate them.
One thing that Riley’s parents do well (again, not judging) is demonstrate empathy in this moment. I truly believe a little empathy goes a long way in life, and dealing with kids is no different, though sometimes it’s harder to relate (seriously I can’t with the YouTube videos). When my daughter starts crying as she tells me about when she didn’t get to choose the game at daycare, I try to think about times when I’ve felt disappointed. And then I try to think about the size of her world and the size of her problem. Then, I resist the urge to say, “Oh well, let’s play that game now!” Instead, I hold her, name the feeling, and remind her that I love her no matter how she’s feeling.
As parents, it’s an involuntary reflex to kiss each owie, to wipe each tear, to fix it all at any cost. With infants, this is appropriate. Once the hierarchy of needs becomes more complicated over time, fixing it isn’t always that simple or appropriate. Some difficult emotions must be endured in order to grow, and sometimes these emotions can be beneficial in their own way. As Riley learns, anger can be helpful in competition. Fear can keep us safe. Sadness can be beautiful. It’s not our job to fix it; it’s our job to be there as they learn to endure. If we can arm them with the ability to problem solve through emotional turmoil, those skills will take them to the moon.
Motherhood & The Mouse 