For Parents, Caregivers, and Practitioners
Most of us, at some point, have had the experience of knowing what we want to do differently with our kids and then... not doing it. We react the same way we always have. We say the thing we said we wouldn't say. We shut down, we give in, or we overcorrect, we yell. And then we feel bad about it.
It's not that we don't care. It's not that we haven't learned anything. It's that the kind of learning that shapes how we act in relationships is different from the kind that comes from reading or understanding. It's stored in the body, built through years of experience, and it runs much faster than our conscious intentions. By the time we remember what we were going to do differently, we're already three steps past it.
What Shark Music Has to Do With It
In the Circle of Security®, we talk about Shark Music™: the internal response that shows up when our child shows us a particular need or feeling that, somewhere deep down, feels uncomfortable or even unsafe to us. When that music plays, we respond not to what our child actually needs but to our own discomfort. And we do it without really knowing that's what's happening.
Here's the thing, though. The ways we respond when Shark Music is playing aren't random. They make sense. They're the moves we learned, often a long time ago, that helped us manage hard feelings. They were protective and necessary. So when someone says "try doing it differently," it's not just a matter of flipping a switch. We're learning to act against something that, on some level, still feels necessary.
This is why change is hard. Not because we're failing. Because what we're asking of ourselves is genuinely difficult.
You Really Can't Do This Alone
Before we can respond differently, we first need to be able to see what's actually driving our response. That's harder than it sounds, because the very feelings that are running the show are ones we've lived with for so long we don't notice them anymore. And, unfortunately, we can't usually get there by ourselves.
The feelings that trigger our Shark Music are often so familiar, so woven into how we move through the world, that we can't see them clearly from the inside. We need someone else to help us name what's happening and start to make sense of it. That's been my experience. I've needed help from another to allow me to trust that something different is possible enough to lean in.
When we do get that kind of support, something shifts. We start to see our Shark Music in real time, not just in hindsight. And that moment of recognition, that small gap between the feeling and the reaction, is where something new becomes possible. We don't have to follow the old script. We can lean into the discomfort instead of just acting on it. And when we do, we get a chance to learn something different about what our child needs, and about what we can actually offer.
It Doesn't Happen Once
This isn't a one-time thing. Every time a particular need or feeling comes up with our child, and Shark Music plays, we have to make that choice again. To notice. To lean in. To do something different. It takes real, repeated effort. And for a while, it feels like effort.
Over time it does get easier, or we find we're able to push a little further than we could before. The Shark Music doesn't stop. But we get better at recognizing it, and it has less of a grip.
And Then We Lose It Again
When life gets overwhelming, when we're stressed or exhausted or just working on something else, the old ways tend to come back. We find ourselves back in the same familiar struggle, reacting the same way, without a clear sense of how to get back to what we'd learned. Which is, honestly, really frustrating. Especially when you felt like you'd made real progress.
And what I've found is that finding my way back requires the same work as finding it the first time. The same reflection. The same support. The same patience to sit with discomfort and not just run from it, or give up (which is what I feel like doing). It gets a little quicker each time, but it doesn't really get easier. It still asks something of me.
And then it clicks again. I find my groove. For a while.
But Something Is Different Each Time
Even when it feels like I'm starting over, I'm not quite starting from the same place.
I've been here before. I've found my way through. I know it's possible, even when it doesn't feel like it. And with each round of going through it, I come out with a little more perspective, a slightly wider view of what I'm capable of and what my kids need from me.
It's not a straight line. It's not a tidy story of progress. But it is movement. Slow, hard-won, worthwhile movement.
For me, and because of me, for my kids.
