Allowing children to show their guilt, show their grief, show

Opening Scene
The rain falls softly against the windowpane, creating a steady rhythm that fills the quiet living room. The fireplace flickers with a gentle glow, casting warm light across the wooden floor. Jack and Jeeny sit together on the couch — he with a steaming mug of coffee, she with her knees drawn close, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders. The world outside feels heavy and gray, but inside, the air carries a fragile stillness — the kind that only comes after something emotional has passed.

A small photo rests on the coffee table, the image of a young boy with a bright, mischievous smile. Jeeny stares at it quietly, her eyes full of thought. Jack watches her, sensing the tension, the sadness beneath her calm.

Host: The world outside continues its steady rain-song, but here, inside, time seems to slow. The soft crackle of the fire mingles with the rhythm of their breathing. The air feels full — not with noise, but with feeling.

Jeeny: (softly, almost to herself) “Martha Beck once said, ‘Allowing children to show their guilt, show their grief, show their anger, takes the sting out of the situation.’” (pausing) “I think about that a lot — especially when I see how we teach kids to hide what they feel, to swallow it down instead of letting it out.”

Jack: (his voice low, reflective) “Yeah. We tell them to ‘be strong,’ to ‘calm down,’ or to stop crying. But in doing that, we teach them that their emotions are something to be ashamed of. It’s like we forget that they’re human too — that they feel pain, guilt, and anger just as deeply as adults do.”

Jeeny: (nodding slowly, her eyes distant) “Exactly. And the truth is, when you let them feel it — when you actually give them the space to show those emotions — it helps them heal. The pain doesn’t get buried. It transforms. The moment they can express it, the sting starts to fade.”

Host: The firelight flickers brighter, its warm glow spilling across their faces. The heaviness in the air begins to shift — not vanish, but soften. Jeeny’s words hang between them like something sacred. Jack leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze thoughtful, as if recalling something from his own past.

Jack: (quietly, with a touch of vulnerability) “When I was a kid, I remember breaking my father’s favorite watch. I was terrified. He didn’t yell — he just looked disappointed, and that was worse. I remember wanting to cry, to say I was sorry, but I couldn’t. I thought crying would make it worse. And even now, I think part of that moment still sits somewhere inside me.”

Jeeny: (her voice gentle) “You weren’t allowed to release it. That’s what happens when we shut those emotions down. They don’t go away — they just hide deeper inside. And then, one day, they show up in other ways — in how we treat others, or in how we treat ourselves.”

Host: The sound of the rain intensifies for a moment, as if echoing the emotional weight of their words. Jack sits back, his gaze fixed on the fire, lost in thought. The flickering light reflects in his eyes, the mix of sadness and understanding visible in his expression.

Jack: (softly) “It’s strange, isn’t it? How much of our adult pain comes from the moments we were never allowed to express as kids. We teach children to suppress emotions to avoid discomfort, but that just builds a wall around them.”

Jeeny: (nodding, her voice firm but tender) “Yes. And it’s not just about the children. It’s about us too. When we deny kids the space to feel, we’re also denying ourselves that same permission. We forget that healing starts with honesty, even when it’s messy. Anger, grief, guilt — they’re all part of love. You can’t protect someone from feeling pain without also protecting them from growing.”

Host: The fire crackles, the sound filling the small silences between them. The room feels heavier again, but in a different way now — not with sorrow, but with understanding. The rain outside continues its soft song, the rhythm now more like a heartbeat than a lament.

Jack: (his voice quiet but strong) “So, letting a child express those emotions — it’s not weakness. It’s teaching them that they’re safe, that their feelings don’t make them bad or broken. It’s showing them that love doesn’t disappear just because they’re angry or hurting.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly, her tone warm) “Exactly. Because when a child learns they’re safe to feel, they also learn empathy. They learn to recognize emotions in others. They grow up understanding that love can hold pain without shattering.”

Host: The room seems to glow now, as if the fire has spread its warmth beyond the hearth, into the air, into their hearts. The heaviness has transformed into something gentler — a kind of peace that comes from shared truth. Jack takes a sip of his coffee, his gaze softening as he looks at the photo on the table.

Jack: (with a small, reflective smile) “Maybe that’s the real lesson, Jeeny. That allowing someone — especially a child — to express their pain doesn’t make the world darker. It makes it more human. It takes the sting out because the emotion finally has somewhere to go.”

Jeeny: (softly, almost a whisper) “Yes. The sting fades when it’s shared, when it’s seen. We all need to be seen like that — without judgment, without fear.”

Host: The rain begins to slow, the rhythm softening as the firelight steadies. The tension that once filled the room has melted away, replaced by a deep sense of peace and connection. Jack and Jeeny sit together in silence now, the fire warming their faces, the photo of the boy still resting on the table between them — a reminder that healing, like love, begins with allowing what’s real to be felt.

The room feels alive again — not because the pain is gone, but because it’s been acknowledged. The warmth of the fire mirrors the truth of the moment: that when we make room for emotion — in children, in ourselves — we take the sting out of suffering and transform it into something human, something whole.