3. Sometimes “I don’t know” is the wisest thing you could say.

Kent Hoffman — developmental researcher, co-creator of the Circle of Security parenting program, and author of Raising a Secure Child — told me that, “the bottom line of the bottom line is that children need to know they’re in the presence of someone who is bigger than them, stronger than them, wiser than them, and deeply, deeply kind.”

When Little Grey asked his questions, my instinct was to throw information at him. And some of that is necessary. But talking to Hoffman also reminded me what lies beyond our words: as the bigger, stronger, wiser, and kind grownups, our first job is to be calm and collected.

“The child needs to know that you’re reading between the lines,” says Hoffman. “The anxiety is really what is driving the question, and not the answer that you give them.”

When I don’t know if the fires will reach our home or if Daddy will have to go help, I need to be upfront with Little Grey. But I also need to remember that he’s looking for reassurance, which comes from both my words and my presence. By accessing both kindness and courage, I can say, “I don’t know. But I’m here with you. We have a plan, and we’ll work through this together.”

4. Be guided by stages, not ages.

I initially wanted this article to be an age-by-age guide to talking to kids about disasters, because the things we’re seeing seem to be so much more terrifying than I thought my 4-year-old could handle. But the climate crisis is transforming the nature of childhood. The world is intense, the future is uncertain, and there’s often no way to hide this from our kids.

The way we work through these events and conversations with kids makes a difference. My partner — a child and adolescent mental health therapist who’s worked with families post-disaster — points out that “traumatic events don’t always traumatize.” We can’t prevent all harm as parents, but the ways we support our kids can protect them from further harm.

While of course our conversations about disasters need to be as age-appropriate as possible, Mount Royal University’s McDonald-Harker suggests that “a better guideline than age is the stage your child is at.” Their questions will tell us what they’re ready to hear; following their lead, our answers should start general and move to specific when asked.

Their questions will tell us what they’re ready to hear.

If Little Grey asks whether the fires will come here, I can say, “I hear you’re worried. And while I don’t know what will happen exactly, I do know we’re prepared as a family.” If he follows up with another question about how we prepare, I answer, and just keep listening for what he really needs to know. As a parent herself, McDonald-Harker also knows some kids won’t ask questions, so we might just need to be the ones asking them questions, like “How do you feel about what we saw on the news?”

Close the conversation by asking if your child has any more questions, McDonald-Harker says; parents shouldn’t worry if they’re not clear on the answer. By saying, “I don’t know what causes these fires. Let’s look that up together,” we create a point of connection with our kids, and we increase trust. This also keeps our kids from seeking answers from friends with similarly incomplete knowledge, or from online sources that might scare or misinform them.

5. Tend to your own heart, too.

My quest to support my kids stems from loving them so much it hurts, but also from feeling like I’m on shaky ground myself these days. When I think unflinchingly about the answers to Little Grey’s questions — the bleakest parts I wouldn’t share with him right now — I feel like I’m staring into an abyss. The climate crisis terrifies me, but I need to stay grounded for my family.

Kent Hoffman is not your grandma’s parenting expert. He has a doctorate of theology and has worked with prisoners, homeless populations, and parents with traumatic pasts, so I have the feeling he knows my abyss well. “We’re at a time of huge peril in our culture,” he says, “partially because we have denuded reality from any sense of rootedness.”

Hoffman emphasizes that what he calls “communion” is necessary both for ourselves and our world. I’m not religious, but I have my own ways of connecting to the vastness within and without, some of which I’ve let slip since having kids. My personal practices are mindfulness meditation and moving through the wilderness, but everyone will have their own.

Anything that can tap us into the bigger picture is how we can access the support we need to support our children.

“Anything that can tap us into the bigger picture is how we can access the support we need to be able to support our children,” says Hoffman. “Otherwise we’re just trying to do it on our own — we’re just toughing it out.”

There’s no doubt that the world will be tough for Little Grey, Mini Ewe, and all the other small humans as they get bigger. Even though I experience a million moments of joy every day, if I stop too long, there’s also the white noise of worry in the background. (And by “worry” I mean dread). But Little Grey’s questions remind me that finding a purpose in this mess can be a powerful way to resist that dread. So today, my purpose is to be the bigger, wiser, stronger, and deeply kind grownup my kids need.

I would like to acknowledge that the land on which I write and live is also the traditional territories of the Blackfoot Nations, which includes the Siksika, the Piikani, and the Kainai. I also honour the Tsuut’ina and Stoney Nakoda First Nations, the Métis Nation (Region 3), and all people who make their homes in the Treaty 7 region of Southern Alberta.

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