Frustration As an Agent of Change

Ginger Johnson

Jun 6

I've been reading a book called Rest, Play Grow in which the author talks about frustration. It's not my favorite emotion; in fact, I have always thought of it as a "bad" emotion. As a child I described myself as having a low frustration level. I still experience frustration from time to time, but I am not ruled by it the way I was as a child. I realized, as I read about children screaming and hitting and biting when they are frustrated, that it is normal to feel frustration but we still have to learn to cope with it. I hadn't known that as I watched my daughter and experienced her raging frustration. I knew the feelings were normal, but I was scared by her methods of expressing them. It turns out it's normal for a toddler to express feelings with their entire body, but if given words they will express things in words instead of hitting. But it takes a while for them to learn this skill, and expecting them to control themselves when they can't is counterproductive. Frustration helps us grow. It helps us see what needs changed in our lives. We can change it by working hard to change our circumstances or changing ourselves or acceptance. Knowing this has made it easier to be accepting of Kitty's frustration.

Recently my daughter grew frustrated with how much stuff she had in her room. For weeks she had become more and more sullen and difficult about playing, insisting that she play with her stuff by dragging it out into the common areas or even into my bedroom and then being sullen and angry when my mom and I requested that she return it to her bedroom. "I hate cleaning up!" she would bellow when I asked her to pick up her toys.

Kitty's frustration was growing along with the mess in her room. I held my boundary that our personal things must be returned to our bedrooms each day, but beyond that, I had ceded the battle against chaos. Until last fall when we got covid, my mom and I had tidied up in Kitty's room each day along with the rest of the house, returning toys, books, papers, clothes and bedding to their designated spots. But during covid, we were unable to do anything, even the basics, and for months after, we were only able to keep up with the absolute basics: cooking, dishes, and clearing off our beds when it was time to sleep. We're getting our energy back now and trying to push back chaos bit by bit, but the disaster in Kitty's room was too overwhelming for us to face. I did not want to dictate to Kitty how to keep her things, especially because she'd grown very touchy about it.

Finally Kitty was having a particularly terrible morning. She was at home with just us because a friend had canceled a play date due to illness, and she was unhappy about it. The discussion was loud and miserable for everyone–my mother and me and Kitty herself. Kitty tried to make herself feel better by talking about all the things that she was going to get for her birthday. But I gently reminded her that there was no room for the fancy castles and toys she wanted, much less the school desk that she was sure she was getting. I know being practical is impossible with a child, but she was going to make herself miserable if she thought she could have all that stuff and we weren't going to be able to get it due to the space issue. Then she segued to complaining loudly about how she hated cleaning up but she wanted her room clean. We had a conversation about how cleaning wasn't any different from playing and moving her stuff around that way– which Kitty considered humbug and told us so in no uncertain terms. After my mom and I discussed how there wasn't room for all the toys she wanted for her birthday, Kitty took a new tack. She talked about all the things she was planning to get rid of so there would be room. I seized on this and took Kitty off to discuss getting rid of something.

I looked around her room. It was stuffed with old cardboard boxes, papers, bits of junk, clothing, and toys all covering every available surface including the floor. I chose some low hanging fruit: a cardboard box she hadn't played with in months. We had cut holes in the sides so she could crawl in and out of it.

"What about this box?" I said. "You told me you don't like this box because it reminds you of sad things."

"I need it to go to other worlds!" she insisted.

I pointed out that she had other holes that she could use for that game. Kitty came up with another excuse and another, and finally I said, "You don't play with it."

Kitty grabbed the box and stormed out of the room to prove that she did in fact need the box– by incorporating it into her current game.

She decided to make a schoolhouse, it was bigger than anything she had ever built before, taking up half the living room plus a good chunk of the dining room, and it included a principal's office. At this juncture Kitty commanded my mom to be the principal. My mom declined. I was appealed to. I, too, declined. Kitty was not pleased. She said she would not play unless we did what she wanted.

I told her that she could play by herself or she would need to put her toys away because they were gumming up the whole living room and blocking us from using the kitchen. A tantrum ensued. Kitty accused me of not loving her and other foul things when I continued to insist that she put away her toys. Thankfully, my mom came to my rescue and said, "This has nothing to do with who loves whom. It's about doing the work. Come on, let's put away your toys."

Eventually Kitty ended up sobbing out her frustrations on my mother's shoulder (thankfully, because I was still sore over the insults thrown at my head earlier). After the tears dried my mom pointed out to Kitty– who was insisting she would get rid of stuff soon– that planning to get rid of things and actually getting rid of things were two different things.

My mom explained the difference between necessities and toys, and how toys come into our lives and leave them to make room for new toys. She talked about "clutter buddies" and then pointed out some low hanging fruit– cardboard boxes that could go away today.

Suddenly Kitty let go of a ton of stuff. She and my mom cheerfully cleared out half of the stuff and nearly all the garbage from Kitty's room in a couple of hours. I was the backup member of the team, making sure that they had new empty bags as needed and moving the things Kitty designated as no longer wanted out of Kitty's room and into the garbage or into the car for Goodwill, as appropriate. It was amazing. After all those tears and tantrums, there was a real release and everyone felt better.

Thinking back on it, I realize that Kitty had reached frustration weeks ago but was hanging on grimly because she didn't have a way to think about her stuff that put her in charge. She was afraid to give anything up because she'd come to see herself as either "needing" the stuff or partially defined by owning it. The frustration finally boiled over into rage and Kitty reached futility. She sobbed, was comforted, and quieted. Then she was finally ready to hear my mom's gentle talk about "seeing" the stuff in a different light, doing instead of planning, and making our own fun via our attitudes.

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