When talking about mum and dad with his Play Therapist, a boy was asked to choose a toy to represent each of his parents and himself. For dad, he chose a shark; for himself he chose a lion, and for mum he picked a giraffe which he positioned on the floor in between the shark and the lion. The mother, who shared this in a parenting session, was describing the dynamic that he was likely referring to and which often occurs when there is a tense interaction between her child and her husband. She is the giraffe coming between them, straining hard to smooth over the argument, or overcompensating by being overly accommodating towards her son.
As she described this over-stretched giraffe there was a jolt of recognition. It spoke to my own anxiety to ‘look after’ the various relationships in our family; a job that leaves me worn out and with less capacity to look after myself. In moments of heightened tension, or what I perceive as ‘less than amicable’ interactions between members of my family, my temptation is to jump in like the giraffe and mediate. It was a role I assumed as a child but which was not appropriate back then, and is certainly not necessary now. Indeed, it can often make the confrontation worse as there are now three embroiled in a conflict situation, with two inevitably joining sides against the other.
In the case outlined above, the giraffe siding with the child and overcompensating, the child may come to learn that he needs defending and s/he may learn to rely on the presence of a giraffe to back him up every time he comes up against something that makes him uncomfortable . The shark (dad) feels both undermined and like the ‘bad guy’; he cannot be trusted by his partner, and consequently his child, to handle the situation or to repair it if he gets it wrong. This causes a growing rift between giraffe and shark, who need to work together to offer the infant lion the sense of security he needs, and which comes from knowing we can still work together despite our differing strengths and perspectives.
As with so much relational and emotional learning, our earliest experiences of conflict – or lack thereof – come from the families and cultures we were born into. We may have experienced and witnessed relationships that were strong enough to survive or even thrive from moments of tension and disagreement. Or else we witnessed relationships that were so delicate that conflict was either avoided at all costs – a resignation towards a ‘false peace’ - or that became so explosive you weren’t sure who would come out alive. Either way, the message we received was that conflict is bad, and needs to be avoided. An unrealistic and even undesirable outcome.
So, perhaps we need to change our approach and attitude towards conflict. As the peace-keeping giraffes, rather than fear conflict and hoof down on any sign of it, perhaps we need to give it some room to breathe? The lion, being old and bold enough to speak, can learn how to handle himself in such situations. The shark – rather than fending off a giraffe ambush – might have the space to reflect on his own experience, listen to the lion’s experience and find better ways to handle the situation in future.
If conflict is well-managed between the two parties involved, it is not just an opportunity to reflect, learn and grow, but also an indication that the relationship is strong enough to survive. It speaks to a sense of trust that the relationship is stronger than any intense feelings or frustrations experienced in the moment of the altercation. Healthily done, conflict allows for different experiences and points of view to be expressed, without either party needing to withdraw from the relationship or to dominate the other.
My ‘dive right-in’ urge was tested recently by a skilful war-dance between my oldest two, during which I somehow managed to maintain my position as an observer on the periphery. I watched as they circled each other around the dining room table armed-up with a verbal barrage of frustration and grievances. I watched as the eldest scrunched up her face and resisted the urge to thump her ‘mouthy’ brother. I watched as he flinched, realising he had gone a little too far in his verbal attack. Round and round they went. I kept skirting the perimeter of the room trying hard to look busy while biting my tongue. By the time I was ready to cave and do my giraffe jump, they had already apologised, hugged and agreed on building a puzzle together.
Perhaps the first step to not heightening tension is recognising our tendency toward being the giraffe. We all have moments or relationships in which we find it difficult to resist that role. The second may be watching and waiting to see what happens. The third might be holding our own discomfort and not transferring our anxiety to the dissenting factions. Rather, we should trust that dad and son, or mother and daughter, or brother and sister, will work it out. Eventually!