8.

Doing The Work with Children

I am often asked if children and teenagers can do The Work. My answer is “Of course they can.” In this process of inquiry, we’re not dealing with people; we’re dealing with thoughts and concepts, and people of all ages—eight or eighty—have the same concepts. “I want my mother to love me.” “I need my friend to listen to me.” “Mommy and Daddy shouldn’t fight.” “People shouldn’t be mean.” Young or old, we believe concepts that through inquiry are seen to be nothing more than superstitions.

I have found that even young children are very receptive to The Work and that it changes their lives. During one children’s workshop, a six-year-old girl got so excited that she said, “This Work is amazing! Why didn’t anyone ever tell me about it?” Another child, a seven-year-old boy, said to his mother, “The Work is the best thing in the whole wide world!” Curious, she asked, “What is it that you like so much about The Work, Daniel?” “When I’m scared and we do The Work,” he said, “then afterward I’m not scared anymore.”

When I do The Work with young children, the only difference I’m aware of is that I draw from a simpler vocabulary. If I use a word that I think might be beyond them, I ask them if they understand it. If I feel that they really don’t understand, then I say what I mean in another way. But I never use baby talk. Children know when they are being talked down to.

The following excerpt is from a dialogue I had with a five-year-old girl:

Becky [frightened, not looking at me]: There’s a monster under my bed at night.

Katie: “There’s a monster under your bed”—sweetheart, is that true?

Becky: Yes.

Katie: Sweetheart, look at me. Can you absolutely know that that’s true?

Becky: Yes.

Katie: Give me your proof. Have you ever seen the monster?

Becky: Yes.

Katie: Is that true?

Becky: Yes.

Now the child is beginning to laugh and warm up to the questions, beginning to trust that I’m not going to force her to believe or not to believe, and we can have fun with this monster of hers. Eventually, the monster has a personality, and before the end of the session, I’ll ask the child to close her eyes, talk to the monster face-to-face, and let the monster tell her what he’s doing under the bed and what he really wants from her. I’ll ask her just to let the monster talk, and to listen and tell me what the monster said. I’ve done this with a dozen children afraid of monsters or ghosts. They always report something kind, such as, “He says he’s lonely” or “He just wants to play” or “He wants to be with me.” At this point, I can ask them, “Sweetheart, ‘There’s a monster under your bed’—is that true?” And they usually look at me with a kind of knowing amusement that I would believe such a ridiculous thing. There’s a lot of laughter. This is the end of the child’s nightmare.

It’s so simple to move to the next question at any point. For example: “How do you react at night in your room alone when you think the thought that there is a monster under your bed? How does it feel when you think that thought?” “Scary. I get scared.” Here they often begin to squirm and fidget. “Sweetheart, who would you be, lying in bed at night, if you couldn’t think the thought ‘There’s a monster under my bed’?” “I’d be okay” is what they usually answer.

Parents report that after the session, the nightmares stop occurring. This always happens. I also hear that parents don’t have to talk their children into coming back to see me. We share an understanding together as a result of inquiry. I love at this point to say to children, “What I learned from you is that without the thought, you’re not afraid, and with the thought, you are afraid. What I learned from you is that it’s not the monster that you’re afraid of, it’s the thought. This is such good news. Whenever I’m frightened, I know that I’m just frightened of a thought.”

I once worked with a four-year-old boy, David, at his parents’ request. They had been taking him to a psychiatrist, because he seemed so intent on hurting his baby sister. They always had to keep track of him; whenever he had the chance, he would attack her, even in front of the parents. He would poke her, pull her, try to push her off surfaces, and he was surely old enough to know that she would fall. They saw him as seriously disturbed. He was getting angrier and angrier. The parents were at their wits’ end.

In our session, I asked him some of the questions on the Judge-Your-Neighbor Worksheet, and the mother’s therapist wrote down his answers. The parents had been doing The Work in another room. When they returned, I had them read their Worksheets on each other in front of the child, so that he could understand that there would be no punishment for expressing his feelings honestly.

 

Mother: I’m angry at the new baby because I have to change her diapers all day long and can’t spend more time with my David. I’m angry at Dad because he works all day and can’t help me change diapers for the new baby.

 

Both Mother and Father continued to judge each other and the baby in front of the little boy. Then it was David’s turn to hear his statements read out loud. “I’m angry at Mommy because she spends all her time with Kathy.” “I’m angry at Daddy because he’s not home enough.” Finally, we heard his statements about his little sister.

 

David: I’m angry at Kathy because she doesn’t want to play games with me. I want her to play ball with me. She should play with me. She shouldn’t just lie there all the time. She should want to get up and play with me. I need her to play with me.

Katie: “She should play with you”—honey, is that true?

David: Yes.

Katie: David, sweetheart, how does it feel when you think that thought?

David: I’m mad. I want her to play with me.

Katie: How did you learn that babies should play ball with you?

David: My mommy and daddy.

 

We had heard the answer, and we knew what was happening. His parents explained that throughout the entire pregnancy, they had told this little fellow that soon he would have a brother or sister who would play games with him and be there as his playmate. What they had failed to tell him was that the baby would have to grow before she could run or hold a ball. When they explained this to David and apologized to him, he of course understood. He left her alone after that. They later informed me that the troubling behavior had stopped, that they were all working on clear communication, and that he was beginning to trust them again.

I love working with children. They come to inquiry so easily, just as we all do when we really want to be free.