In my household growing up, we were dog people, so when I’d visit people who had cats, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I’d try to pick up their cat, but when it wriggled to be set free, I’d squeeze tighter. The cat would inevitably win with a heroic escape to the floor. And, while this exchange seemed arguably abusive, my take was kind of like, “Well, cat, that’s what you get for not wanting to be held.” Like, the cat deserved punishment for rejecting me. Thank God I was only like forty inches from the floor at that point in my life.

Years later, when I was sixty-five inches tall, I actually got a cat. I immediately made a conscious decision to never hold the cat if the cat didn’t want to be held. So, the moment I felt resistance in kitty’s body, I would bend down and release him gently on the floor. Little did I know back then, Team—I was getting a parenting lesson from Connor the Cat. 

Growing children can sometimes make it hurtfully clear that they don’t want to be held. And I can take it very personally. And, unfortunately, feeling unwanted can make me want to grip even tighter. But if that’s my response, I can’t be surprised when I get scratched.

My old approach was a death grip coupled with a stiff consequence when my affection wasn’t returned. The gentle release strategy’s goal is to, over time, let the beasts know my arms are a safe place to come. Why is it safe? Because they’re not going to be asked for more than they can give. 

Maybe not forcing my kids to be held is what keeps them coming around. Honoring and respecting the time I get with them and not demanding more (even if I deeply want it). And hey, if they catch me leaning in for one more quick kiss before I officially let go, I hope they know that it’s not me asking them to stay. It’s just me saying, “Come back anytime, kitty.”

Thanks for listening, Team~