I’m by no means a parenting expert. I’m also not someone who holds a degree in child psychology. So what I’m about to share is just anecdotal. It’s not a prescription or a surefire way to get your kids through deployment in one psychologically sound piece. I think, in a lot of ways, none of us makes it through deployment in one piece. We’re constantly learning, growing, changing, and there are occasionally things that break us down. When that happens, we find ways to move through it. To grow from it. To take what’s left, maybe discard some things, tweak some things, and we move on – hopefully better than we were before.

Right now, I’m listening to my daughters as they’re folding laundry. They’ve got music going, they’re laughing, and they’re singing along at the top of their lungs. It’s a pretty idyllic scene. But believe me, you, that it’s definitely not always like this in the house. Give it time and they might find something to fight over. Someone will do something or, worse, interrupt me in something, and I’ll get snippy. I’ll yell when I’m at my wit’s end. I’ve laid down punishments without thinking. There are times I’ve wondered just how in the hell these kids are turning out alright when I’m clearly a screwup.

To give some context, I’ve been told that I parent differently than most. I try my hardest to parent without yelling. To parent without screaming, to talk rather than fight, to discuss, to provide options rather than coerce. I try to get creative in my disciplinary approach so the punishment fits the crime, or to simply let them experience the natural consequences of their actions. That is, of course, provided that their safety isn’t in any immediate danger. My goal is to keep things working as cooperatively as possible in the house, and to ensure that our home is a safe, stable, comfortable place – and not just physically. The military life doesn’t offer much by way of predictability or stability, and they’re often forced to simply deal with change, without the luxury MarvMan and I have in terms of understanding how the military works. Or doesn’t, as the case may be.

Time is such a fluid thing for kids, and I think they feel the constant coming and going more than they let on. They feel the drag of time more than I do. And because they don’t have that understanding I just mentioned, their emotions are more frightening to them, more complex than they know what to do with. Being upended and tossed about like this scares them, and for good reason. When they’re younger, they don’t know how to express it, but when they’re older the idea of expressing it may be even scarier than the emotions themselves. It’s a pendulum of emotions and experiences.

My youngest, who is exactly like her father, tends to react out of anger, though it’s typically here and then gone in a flash. Her fists will ball, her jaw will set, she’s perfected the thousand yard stare, and if she could I’m certain she’d burst into flames, just to release it. And then it will pass, or she’ll go out for a run, because she’s always moving. Always swimming through one moment and on to the next. She’ll still occasionally crawl into my lap and cuddle me, sighing as she lets her head drop onto my shoulder. “This sucks.” She’s direct, has no time for mincing words, and will move on from these soft moments just as quickly as they happen. She is an old soul, my baby, whose calm surface conceals a rushing current beneath.

My ten year old, though, is the other side of the coin. She’s very much like I was at that age. Her emotions come rolling in waves – Navy reference fully intended here – and sometimes she’s overwhelmed by them. Swept away. She wears her heart on her sleeve, which makes it almost impossible for her to lie about her feelings. When she cries, it’s with her whole soul, and she’s folded her still growing self up so she can fit in my arms, wracked with emotion and sobbing from the deepest parts of herself. But when she’s happy it’s with her whole soul, too; falling on the floor laughing, a bright light so infectious she can lift my mood on the worst of days. I’ve tempered myself over time, though, so her big waves of big emotions can sometimes overwhelm me and sweep me up, too.

The one thing in all of this that I’ve come to understand is that they feel the same things I do about deployment. And about military life in general. Too often, we don’t give kids credit for their observations. They know the sacrifices, but they do also understand the things those sacrifices provide for them. The girls understand that this is Daddy’s job. He goes away because it’s required of him, and the paycheck he brings in lets them do piano, baseball, French tutoring, math tutoring, and religious school. What they don’t know is how to cope with this, and what to do with all these emotions they’re dealing with. Like it catches me by surprise sometimes, missing Daddy and getting frustrated with deployment will sometimes sneak up on them and throw them for a major loop.

I think a lot of what I do for them centers on making sure they don’t have some of the same unhealthy attitudes toward expressing their emotions that I acquired over the years. I have my own personal issues and mental health struggles, so I try to teach the girls things I’ve learned about healthy coping. Things like finding something to do, writing it out, talking to someone else (yes, even a counselor), going for a run, so on and so forth. Because maybe if they learn now how to embrace the tough feelings while they’re young, it’ll get easier when they get older.

Validating those feelings, in my experience, has been the most important part. Letting them know it’s okay to feel however they feel is crucial. I’m honest with the girls, and I don’t censor my feelings. I make sure to let them know that I have different ways of expressing my feelings, because, well, I don’t like to cry. I try to express that it’s a personal preference, and remind them that crying is okay. And, when they’re ready, we explore healthy outlets. Like I said before, my youngest likes to run, and she’s an incredible baseball player. My oldest is more artistic, so she finds solace in practicing piano or painting a new picture. And sometimes we indulge and go out for a dinner or a special treat.

Respecting those feelings, too, is high on the list. Every night before bed, I go into their rooms and sit on the bed. My phone isn’t with me. The door is shut. It’s private, one on one time. I give them a few moments to settle under their blankets, arrange their pillows and stuffed animals, and then we talk. The conversation starts the same way every time:

How are you?

Before I started these nightly conversations, I explained to them that this time is their guarantee that they have my full, undivided attention. They’re allowed to say whatever they want, and however they feel the need to express it – yes, even mild vulgarities are allowed. Sometimes the only way to accurately express something is to say you’re pissed off. It carries a bit more weight, doesn’t it? I know, personally, there’s a difference between when I say I’m mad and when I say I’m pissed off.

During these conversations, they’ll cover anything and everything. A recap of the day. A litany of what sister is doing that is really annoying. Something that happened that I didn’t know about, questions they might have. When is Daddy getting to the next port? How far are we in deployment? Do bees really have knees? Nothing is off limits. We get to the hard stuff, too. The things that are sometimes difficult to talk about. The big emotions that overwhelm and make them feel like they’re drowning.

They will even tell me when I’ve upset them or done something they feel is unfair. And I freely admit my failures. I apologize for them. I ask how we can approach things better next time. It’s one of the hardest parts sometimes – don’t we all love thinking we’re infallible as parents? – but it’s been absolutely necessary.

There are still other times when we don’t talk. Sometimes we sit in silence and watch the ceiling fan spin. Silent companionship can sometimes be precisely what the doctor ordered. Other times, I’ll help my youngest count sheep to help her fall asleep, or bring a book when I sit with my eldest so we can read quietly. Occasionally, we make up bedtime stories.

My job during this time is typically just to listen, and occasionally just keep the conversation going. I’ve tried to stay away from fixing things. Instead, I try to make sure I’m asking questions. Why does that make you angry? What makes that important to you? I can see how that makes you sad. I will, of course, commiserate. I miss Daddy, too, baby. I miss him so much it hurts.

It’s created a deeper partnership between the three of us. They still know and understand that I’m the parent, and therefore the authority figure, but they know they’re not alone in this. That my experience is also theirs, even if mine is expressed differently. They know they can come to me with anything. And I value that trust above almost anything else in this world.

In the end, I’m sometimes grateful for the ways in which deployments have shaped my relationship with my daughters. How it’s forced us to cling more tightly to each other, through the crests and the troughs, to continue the wave comparison. Especially in the troughs, the low points, with yet another wave bearing down upon us. It’s required that I get creative in my parenting, it’s demanded that I treat my girls and their emotions with the same respect as I would were they adults.

I say it a lot, and I mean it: they are tiny adults. And I try to treat them as such whenever possible, but especially when it comes to their feelings. It means acknowledging a lot of my shortcomings. Admitting when I’ve been dismissive. Giving them the room they need to work through and move through their emotions. Allowances for bad days – because we all have them – and not trying to fix things. Because we can’t really fix this. We can only get through it.

And we will. We’ll get through it. We always do.

This work by Lin Clements is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.