How does family life continue after an accident?
There are moments in life that I think back on with a heavy heart. One of them was 17 years ago when my three-year-old son was involved in a road accident. Everything happened in a matter of seconds: the driver had simply overlooked the little boy when crossing the road and hit him with her car.
The ambulance came for my child, he had to have an operation, spend some time in hospital and then move around for weeks with his leg in plaster.
All in all, my son was very lucky: the injuries he sustained at the time healed quickly and today he no longer feels anything from the incident. He mainly remembers the sight of the car from below, he says today. It's the pictures of the bodywork that have stayed with him.
At the time, however, I was very worried about my injured child's mental health, even though he seemed quite happy after his hospitalisation and, unlike me, had no nightmares. The paediatrician recommended that I seek advice from a child psychiatrist. In his practice, I received two valuable pieces of advice within an hour, which have helped me a lot as a mother to this day.
Read on and find out more about the helpful tips in the full article.
Consciously giving siblings the gift of time
After I had confided in the doctor, to my astonishment he did not ask about my injured child, but above all about his brothers.
He explained to me that the situation is often much more difficult for siblings who are not directly involved in an accident: from one moment to the next, the affected child takes centre stage.
The siblings suddenly have to miss out on time with their parents and feel guilty without understanding what they have done wrong.
They are looked after, a lot of time is devoted to them, family and friends enquire about their well-being and bring gifts. The siblings are suddenly left out of the loop - without having been prepared for this or being able to influence the situation. They have to miss out on time with their parents and feel guilty without understanding what they have done wrong.
The psychiatrist therefore advised me to consciously make time for my other two sons - which I did. I asked a friend to look after my injured son while I went to the park with my other two children and consciously gave them my full attention.
It was good for the three of us, we experienced a bit of normality during this challenging time. My youngest son was four months old at the time, his brother, who was also three, remembers the large plaster cast that his twin brother wore after the accident. The children survived the event unscathed.
Since then, at times when a child - for whatever reason - needs special attention, I consciously try not to lose sight of the siblings.
What sounds stressful at first actually provides relief. This is because the current difficult situation doesn't take up too much space. It gives me as a mum and the rest of the family room to breathe.
Tantrums as proof of love
The second piece of advice I was given was even more helpful. We parents know the situation: our child shouts at us, insults us angrily and slams the door in our face. This behaviour is hurtful, it makes us sad and discouraged.
The paediatric psychiatrist prepared me wisely and very carefully for the time after my son's hospitalisation. He explained to me that I should now expect my son to throw violent tantrums. He was unsettled by the accident, he was also in pain and, of course, angry because he couldn't walk, swing or play football with his twin brother.
The doctor encouraged me to see my son's tantrums as a sign of affection and trust.
He let me know that my son would unload all his negative feelings on me and advised me to see any aggression that arose as a sign of love. Who else could children vent their frustration and negative feelings to if not their parents? Children sense that no matter how I behave, my mum and dad still love me.
The doctor encouraged me to see tantrums as a sign of affection and trust. He advised me to take my child in my arms and comfort him, to give him security and support instead of scolding him.
It came as he had predicted. If I hadn't received his valuable advice beforehand, I would probably have despaired in this situation. But as it was, I tried to calmly absorb the violent outbursts of emotion. I took a deep breath, held the wild little fox and calmed him down - which I usually managed to do.
I am still grateful to the psychiatrist today, because his advice has since reminded me time and again to treat my children equally as siblings and not to judge emotional outbursts as tedious dramas, but as a cry for help and an expression of unconditional trust.
