The Purple Balloon

It was bedtime.  My husband had been in Asia for two weeks (and counting!) and I needed the day to be done.  My youngest, Matthew, was having a rough night. Something earlier in the evening had upset him, and he was still stewing.  He tends to get stuck in his sadness, rather like a hamster on a wheel, and I was trying my best to give him a way to let go of his sniffling and move on
(read: please dear God, go to sleep already!).

I asked him to pick a "sad" color.  He stubbornly shook his head and refused to play along, but luckily Connor chirped, "Purple is my sad color."
Great - purple it is.  I told Matthew to pretend he was holding a purple balloon, and to imagine blowing all of his sad feelings out of his body and into the balloon. Then, I instructed him to hold his bulging balloon up to the sky and let it go!

We watched it get smaller and smaller.  I even narrated its ascent - "Oh, it almost touched the tree top!  Look, a bird just flew right past it!" - in as cheerful and engaging voice as I could muster up.

"It's getting so tiny you can barely see it -- and into the blue sky it disappears!"

I paused.  "Don't you feel better?"  Matthew burrowed deeper into the blankets and was quiet.

Taking that as a sign of success, I moved on to tucking Connor in.  He was sitting in his bed, eyes shining wet.  "What's wrong?"  I asked, genuinely surprised to now find him upset.

He looked deeply into my eyes and said these exact words:

"Mom, it's important to feel your feelings.  I keep all my feelings, the bad and the good.  I don't like to give any of them away.  It's like saying goodbye to a best friend."

I was so stunned that I had no reply.  His sincere and raw emotion washed over me like a tidal wave.  I flew out of his room and ran downstairs to scribble down his perfect words, knowing I could never replicate his thoughts in such a concise and beautiful way.

One of the greatest gifts that children offer is to help us (force us!) to live in the moment, as they do.  I realized that I was coercing Matthew to let his balloon float away before he was ready.  After all, feeling your feelings is what we are here to do, and it is ultimately the most important thing we need to be doing.  My sad little boy was filling his balloon and getting ready for its release, but it was not happening according to my schedule or needs or expectations.  Connor reminded me of exactly how critical and personal that process is, and that sometimes, you don't need to let go.

Sometimes you need to hold on, and let the feelings let go of you.