Love, not tough

A few minutes ago I was rubbing coconut oil all over the scaly, eczema-prone skin of a 10-month-old child. He was wiggling, slippery, and triply enraged as he had first had to suffer through being toweled off (a terrible offense), and coated with lotion (an even greater affront). The oil was the final transgression and so I was wrestling a slick, naked little baby who was deceptively strong for his rotund physique.

But I pinned him down and persisted through the screams, getting that one spot he scratches till it bleeds on his jaw, and the new scales on his left elbow. Then, still shouting and greasy and also very cold, he fought me as I wrestled him into clothes. The whole process took about ten minutes and he was angry the whole time.

You’d have thought I was pulling out his fingernails or worse, putting him down for a nap, at how he protested and yelled and cried.

So why did I do this? Anyone reading this will understand why. He has allergies that make him prone to eczema, an itchy condition that leaves patches of his otherwise silky soft baby skin scratched and rough. We have been battling it back for months. A two week treatment of hydrocortisone gained us some ground, a week of swimming and salt water lost us some. But that battle goes on. I say “we” have been battling, but really he’s an unwilling participant. He’d rather scratch (and bleed, and leave himself prone to infections). Instead I clip his nails and coat him with lotion and oil and cream and bundle him up and humidify the house while he protests.

I love him. Obviously I love him. Nobody would ever hold a screaming, slippery munchkin and gently rub more oil into their skin for fun. Nobody would choose to have their ears filled with enraged cries for the joy of it. But to Pickle (his nickname) it doesn’t feel like love. Just like to my older kids, bedtime doesn’t feel like love. Strict iPad limits don’t feel like love. Folding clothes doesn’t feel like love. We know they are but it doesn’t feel like it.

It’s easy to say that love is doing what is best for others whether it makes them happy or not. It’s easy to do things that make people very, very angry and claim it is for love and maybe we even think it’s true. But there’s a major difference between my limits on my children, my choices for their food and lifestyle, and my consequences for bad choices. See, I am an authority in their life. As their mother, I am perhaps the main authority in their life and nearly everything of their lives is in my purview, especially the baby. He is with me almost every hour (even when sleeping he is not far), and with no judgement at all, it is my job to make every decision for him. So he can’t eat Lego, or lick the toilet brush. He gets served avocados and blueberries, not cookies and cake.

With my older children, there is more freedom. They can have a cookie with their lunch and choose to eat it first. They can pick their clothes for the day. With my two school-age kids, I have abdicated control of much of their education (as someone who dreamed of homeschooling my kids, this has been a very, very challenging transition, but I have a good relationship with their school and teachers, and respect them). As they get older, my authority shrinks until at last I am only an authority in areas that they grant to me.

“Tough Love” as it is sometimes called, is relegated to areas of authority, and that authority, to have any meaning, must be granted by the person over whom one wields it, if they are an adult. It can be granted begrudgingly — I am looking at you, congressmen, judges, etc. — in exchange for certain benefits or out of necessity. All human authority has severe limitations. As a mother, I am painfully aware of my own shortcomings.

The reason I bring this up is because so many people (*Christian right cough cough*) love to tell people they’re terrible and that they say it because they love these people. If those statements don’t feel very loving… it’s because they usually aren’t. The “tough love” veneer hides serious insecurity, a desire for control, and often a sense of self-righteousness. If you feel like telling somebody you don’t know and don’t hold any authority over that their lifestyle is wrong because it’s “tough love” and they need to hear it, you need to take a deep breath and step away. Authority, real and meaningful authority, is granted willingly and earned through trust, love, and self-sacrifice. Something that isn’t earned through follower numbers on social media or some higher calling from your version of God.

It’s easy to say that love is doing what is best for others whether it makes them happy or not.

If you are in a position of authority and wish to maintain it, speak in love first. Maybe the words will hurt. Maybe there is a problem with alcohol and maybe they will reject you. Maybe they are indulging in gossip that harms them and those around them and you as a respected and loved authority can gently bring this to their attention.

Let’s not assume authority over and breed resentment in people. Love first, toughen it only if it’s your place.