Voice of the infant and adult feelings

One thing I come up against in my work to bring the voice of the infant to conversations around infant sleep is the all too common refrain that I am shaming parents or making them feel guilty. The implication being that I am willfully choosing to attack and harm a group of people who are already saturated in unrealistic demands and pressure.

The truth is though, quite often, the 'shaming' calls come with one aim- to silence.

Yes, some of the things I write, the topics I cover, the perspectives I try to bring to light can raise all sorts of uncomfortable feelings for people. Especially for those of us, like me, who did sleep train our babies. But our adult discomfort and feelings cannot and should not stand in the way of trying to honour the very real discomfort and feelings of our babies in their experience either.

This past weekend, I was heartbroken to read a comment thread on socials where person after person described hiring a sleep consultant to come and sleep train their baby because they could not stomach it alone. This prompted me to bring out an old piece I wrote in 2018 that stokes many emotions for people in an effort to try and get people to consider what sleep training might feel like for a baby.

I'm sharing it here today as an example of the kind of posting I try to use to advocate for us always to consider the voice of the infant in any conversation of parental wellbeing. Unless we understand and value the wellbeing of all of the humans in a family, we will continue to drown out the most vulnerable voice in the story.

Here it is-

To those who support parents as they sleep train- coaches, consultants, nurses, night nannies etc,

Is it not ironic that through this process, your clients are leaning on you for support, reassurance and comfort while their child cries (no, they aren’t self-soothing)?!?

The adult, the one with the fully developed emotional regulation has the support crew to ‘stay strong’ through the process but not the vulnerable, dependent...

Let’s put that into another scenario. Let’s say, this time the vulnerable person in this case isn’t an infant but YOU. Except you’re not in your current state of capability...

No, now you have limited to no mobility, limited to no speech or ability to communicate, you are incontinent, and a series of health events has made it hard for you to understand your surroundings and what is going on...

There’s this one night nurse who seems to ‘get you’. She comes when you call and just having her near or holding your hand helps to allay some of your fears. The trouble is, you are having a shocking time right now and you wake a lot, and you really struggle to get back to sleep. You feel scared, you hate soiling yourself, the last time you tried to reach for a drink you fell out so now you have sides up preventing doing it yourself and you have to buzz. The nightmares are terrifying, you miss your partner who recently passed and all the little things about them that used to help you sleep so well. Half the time, you wake up and don’t even know where you are ...

Unfortunately, your nurse isn’t getting through all of her other jobs and when she explained to management why she wasn’t completing all of her other tasks, they decided enough was enough. They brought in a sleep coach / night nanny, and they put a monitor in with you. That night, after they’d changed your bedpan and decided you were tired, instead of holding your hand while you drifted off, your beloved nurse told you she had paperwork to get done so with a rub on your back she left the room, flicking the light off as she left and pulled the door shut.

Your anxiety rose. You begin to cry.

Firstly, with tears just slowly dripping down your cheeks as you try to hold it together. Surely, she’ll be back. She knows how hard this time of day is for you.

But nothing. Your heart races and you begin to sob.

You fluff around trying to find your buzzer but they’ve taken that away. You cry out the best that you can but the word ‘help’ won’t come and so you cry.

From the nurses station, your beloved nurse is asking to go to you saying how much she hates seeing you so distressed, but the sleep coach rubs her shoulders and assures her it will be okay and here, she’ll make the nurse a cup of tea and try to chit chat to distract her. She tells your nurse to wait for 5 minutes to see if you can calm yourself.

Back in the room, you are a mess. Your heart is racing. You are sweating. You feel confused, scared, anxious and worried. What’s going on? Can’t she hear you? How else can you get her to come?

5 minutes pass and your lovely nurse walks in and you at once feel a little bit easier. Your wails become heaving sobs as you work to catch your breath, but she’s not looking at you. She says that you need to learn to go to sleep alone as she has other things to do and you are okay, she’s just down the hall. She rubs your hand and says, ‘go to sleep now, dear’ and walks out. BUT, BUT, BUT, BUT I NEED YOU!!! Can’t you hear me?

And so it goes, you are a mess and this time she doesn’t come back for even longer. In the nurses station, your lovely nurse is saying to the sleep coach, ‘this feels so wrong, can’t I just go and hold her hand?!?’ The sleep coach comforts her with an arm around her shoulder saying, ‘it is always tough the first few nights, but it is so worth it in the long run!’ When finally, she comes in, you reach for her hand and grasp it but she’s still not looking at you and she’s saying the same things. This time she stays until you have your breath back. You are feeling exhausted, and your head is pounding from all the crying. Thank goodness she staying this time.

But just as you relax, she says she needs to go again. This time, you are so exhausted, your silent tears fall as you lapse into sleep. Alone. Frightened. Confused. Sad. You wake with a start a while later and cry out. You look around in terror from the nightmare you just came from. You are crying. She will come. She always does. She pops her head in and says ‘back to sleep it’s still night time’ and pulls the door shut.

Your mouth is parched from all the crying, but a drink isn’t on offer. You lay shivering with fear but eventually exhaustion takes hold, and you fall back into fitful sleep. You wake a while later and your mouth is dry and hoarse. You cry out and this time she walks in and allows you a sip of your water bottle but swiftly exits.

Loneliness has always been the hardest in the wee hours of the night when you miss the connection and comfort you used to have when your beloved partner was alive and in bed with you. There you are. Alone. Your heart and soul hurt. All you wanted was the comfort and connection of another human.

In the nurses station the sleep coach is elated with how quickly this one learned! ‘See,’ she says to your nurse, ‘she could do it, you just had to give her the chance.’ To your nurse, you look so peaceful on the monitor. She can’t see the silent tears still staining your face.

She thanks the sleep coach saying she could never have stayed strong without her there to support and reassure her through the process.

She’ll never know how much pain you felt in that moment as she greets you smiling the next morning and your relieved face lights up in return.

Tell me again who was deserving of comforting in this process- the person with full control and autonomy versus the vulnerable dependent? Mull on that a little while.

#voiceoftheinfant

Carly Grubb, 2018

Founder of Little Sparklers, home of The Beyond Sleep Training Project

Image: Shutterstock