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A little girl, whom I’ll call Elizabeth, is almost 9. She has large brown eyes, lush swinging chestnut hair, flushed cheeks, and a wide happy smile—she looks a bit like a Garth Williams illustration.
A few weeks ago she began third grade in a suburban town in Upstate New York, where she lives with her parents and her older brother. Ever since Elizabeth was a tiny little girl, she was tentative in new situations. When she saw her parents’ friends (like me) she’d stare with wide pensive eyes, and fall completely silent. Some neighbors thought perhaps she was slow to develop or odd in some way. Yet if you saw her in her own home, when she didn’t know you were there, she’d run around gleefully, rough house with her older brother, make up hilarious games and enact crazy scenarios, shrieking with raucous laughter—all the signs of a lively happy child. With people she new she was warm, lively and completely engaged.
It seemed clear that she was bright, secure and happy, but also very shy. In other ways too, she showed the signs of what psychologist Jerome Kagan called an inhibited temperament. She was wary of new experiences, overwhelmed at times with a shrinking dread, especially if she had to join a new group, begin a new classroom, or in other ways encounter unfamiliar experiences. Kagan has shown, with his ingenious experiments, that babies who seem inhibited (or what most of us think of us shy) remain that way. The baby who is startled by a change in routine, or thrown off when presented with an unusual toy, is the preschooler who lingers nervously at the corner of the classroom, and the teenager who hangs back in the cafeteria or at a party.
Though I knew Elizabeth when she was a baby, she had some, but not other, obvious characteristics of inhibition- she didn’t get inordinately upset at novel experiences, and she didn’t have trouble making transitions. Her mother did not experience her as a difficult baby (the characterization used by experts before Kagan termed it inhibited). But certainly by the time she was a toddler she seemed wary of strangers, reluctant to let her parents leave her at day care, and slow to warm up in new settings. When her mother Ellen, left her each day at Kindergarten, and then first grade, she’d have to make sure Elizabeth was holding the teachers hand, and then it was alright to leave. Ellen was particularly attuned to her daughter’s moods, and good at building in small rituals that would help Elizabeth overcome daily obstacles created by her anxieties. Meanwhile, Elizabeth has friends, activities she loves to do, and, for the most part, launches into every day life with enthusiasm.
In second grade, she became increasingly distraught over the weekly skating session most kids in her class attended at a local ice rink. Though Elizabeth was perfectly good at the skating, she was anxious, week after week, about who would be her instructor (often a different person from the week before). She’d cry the night before, say she didn’t want to do it, and drag her feet on skate day. Her parents would remind her that she liked to skate, that her Dad would join her after the first 45 minutes, and that she really could do it. One week, her anxiety reached a crescendo. The family had a tumultuous (and tearful) discussion about it the night before. The following morning Elizabeth seemed a little worried, but didn’t suggest not going. Ellen asked how she was feeling about skating that day. Elizabeth said, “I’m okay. If I get scared I’m just gonna say, Poached Egg, Poached Egg, Poached Egg.” When Ellen told me this story, I tilted my head in slight confusion, asking, “Does she love Poached Eggs?” “She’s never had one”, Ellen answered. I laughed with delight, but her mother was slightly worried. It sounded like the kind of quirky ritual that people with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder sometimes depend on. But she skated, and the year progressed.
Over the summer, Ellen grew more concerned. Elizabeth started worrying, frequently, that her parents had left the house, though in reality they have never done so, and in fact, live a very calm, well ordered life, which revolves around the children’s schedules. Nevertheless, Elizabeth has started waking up at night consumed by a panicky feeling that her parents are no longer there. Ellen worried that Elizabeth’s fears and preoccupations were getting the better of her. She considered consulting a specialist, but decided to wait and see how Elizabeth fared in the new school year.
Now, at the start of third grade, Elizabeth was once again unhappy. The first day she was put at a worktable with three girls she didn’t know well. Because of the schedule instead of eating lunch with her old familiar friends, she had to find new friends and didn’t quite know where to sit. She came home very distraught. Ellen wasn’t sure what she should do. She wanted Elizabeth to handle this on her own, but felt too worried that Elizabeth wouldn’t be able to. And as much as she wanted Elizabeth to learn how to tough things out, handle things on her own, and adjust, she also didn’t want her to begin a new school year miserable.
The next morning, Ellen went with her to school.
Together, they walked over to the teacher, who was getting things ready for the day, and greeting her students. Ellen said, “Elizabeth is having a hard time. Yesterday she was put at a table with children she doesn’t know, and it made the day hard for her”. Teacher and mother looked towards Elizabeth, who stared up with an emotion filled face- 1/3 embarrassed, 1/3 third tremulous, and 1/3 relieved. The teacher took Elizabeth by the hand and walked a little away from Ellen. Leaning down so that her ear was close to Elizabeth’s mouth she said, “Elizabeth. We can fix this. Tell me who you’d like to sit with.” Elizabeth whispered the names into her new teacher’s ear. The teacher said, loud enough so Ellen too could hear, “done!” Elizabeth’s small body softened with relief.
Ellen left, calling me up from her car to discuss it. “I’m not sure I did the right thing. I don’t want her to think I’m going to rush in and fix everything. The teachers reaction seemed to make everything better. But is it right for her to fix it like that for Elizabeth?”
It seemed to me both of them had done just the right thing. Ellen showed Elizabeth that when things aren’t right, you should do what you can to make them better. She also showed Elizabeth that she trusted the teacher, and felt the teacher was an ally, who could help Elizabeth. Many parents these days are so caught up in their idea of advocating for their child, that they forget that building a partnership with a teacher is a wonderful way to help.
The teacher also did just the right thing. She used the exchange to build a bond with her new student, and to let Elizabeth know she was on Elizabeth’s side, eager to ease the way when possible. Teachers often do their best work in the moments that few notice or track.
Elizabeth is not going to outgrow her slight inhibition, and her worries and rituals may continue to dog her. But if her parents and her teachers help her figure out techniques for managing those worries (whether it’s a poached egg mantra or a straight forward conversation with a powerful person) she’s going to be fine.
It’s now the fourth week of the new school year. Elizabeth loves third grade.
