Why Hiding Dark Emotions from Our Kids is Not Healthy

Depot Beach National Park, Australia (Image courtesy of worldofmiri.com)

What I found out when I almost ruined our family holiday

Days before going on a dream three-week long camping road trip, I injured my knee in a taekwondo jump kick.

The kick was epic.

The landing wasn’t.

I collapsed on the floor screaming. The pain gradually released, but I knew I had done major damage. In that moment, I did not know what felt worse: the outlook of tediously traveling through the medical system moving towards rehabilitation or the sensation of spoiling the family trip we had been looking forward to. We were aiming to reconnect with the kids and move us closer together as a family by playing and having fun.

We’d given each other surfing lessons for Christmas and I was determined to master them with a smile, no matter how many times I’d fall from that board. I wanted to show the kids you’re never too old to try something new. We were going to enjoy bush walks, spot Australian wildlife, play badminton and Frisbee, go cycling, built the largest sand holes on earth, and indulge in ocean swims.

None of this was possible for me.

The frustration gnawed on my jaws. I was close to staying at home on my own, wading in my own misery.

Luckily, I had enough strength to move beyond the emotions of those moments and committed to the trip.

I watched my husband and the kids from the shore as they balanced on their boards. I applauded every wave they caught sitting in the shallow waters with the saltwater washing away my tears. In the evenings, we cuddled up in our camper beds, reading together or playing dice. There was no pressure for me to rise early to go for a run or do yoga, which were always on my agenda. Instead, I allowed myself to sleep in and cuddle with whatever child ended in our bed overnight. There was no need for me to wake up before sunrise to take spectacular shots of the tinted sky. I wouldn’t have been able to reach the best spots.

Gradually, I relaxed into the new feeling of not doing much. The knee hurt more on some days and less on others. The pain moved around and I found it impossible to detect a pattern. I stopped trying. I wouldn’t be able to get into the healing modalities before we returned. A physiotherapist we met along the way confirmed it was okay to wait, as long as I could handle the pain.

Instead of going for bush walks, the native animals met us on our campgrounds. We saw kangaroos and were greeted by birds we hand-fed with sunflower seeds. Dolphins cruised the shore and sting rays floated under the bridges in the harbors. The kids stepped up and took on more duties. Voluntarily. Surprised, I noticed it was okay for me not to have to do everything.

However, with the end of the trip drawing closer, anxiety returned. Almost four weeks had passed since my epic kick, but the pain suddenly worsened. Why was that? Had I overdone it? Yes, I had taken up walking longer distances without crutches. Was it the fear of having to face the actual consequences? I wasn’t sure, but my emotions were boiling high.

My usual pattern was to hide in my bedroom and let the tears flow. I have never felt comfortable crying around other people or allowing anyone to connect with my pain, especially not my kids. I suppose this stems from a history of glossing over which I learnt in my own childhood whenever an uncomfortable emotion arose.

But here I was. Stuck in a camper van, not able to move into a secluded space because I couldn’t walk that far. We were crammed together on the inside because it was raining.

I couldn’t swallow my tears any longer.

Within minutes, my family was around me. My kids cuddled up on either side of me, holding space. They acknowledged my pain without trivializing it. They simply sat there with me.

Of course, this didn’t mend my knee. I’m still on that path.

However, I only understood much later how powerful the trip and especially those last days were.

I allowed myself to be seen by those who are closest and dearest to me. I modeled to my children there is adversity in life. I demonstrated to them something new, and this was not about persisting on a surfboard. It is okay to feel down, to let the tears flow, to feel helpless and overwhelmed. It is okay to allow others to hold you. I taught them being an adult does not mean you have life figured out.

I’m still learning from this experience. This is about opening up and allowing my vulnerability to show through. It’s also about letting go of control and dealing with what life offers us. It’s about appreciating my body for everything it’s done for me.

More importantly, my behavior gives permission to my kids to reveal the full range of their emotions, and not just put the good ones on display. Playing and having fun is not the only way for us to connect. Sometimes it takes as little and as much as just being ourselves.