The Great Scam of Impossible Injunctions

In the grand circus of human relationships, there’s a particularly absurd balancing act: the paradoxical injunction. Picture the classic scene of a couple in the middle of an argument:

“Calm down, there’s no need to get so upset”

Supreme irony, isn’t it? Asking someone to control their anger by making them even more furious. It’s like pouring gasoline on a fire while screaming “No flames!” The result? A guaranteed emotional impossibility, where the person receiving this command feels both invalidated in their emotion and suddenly required to annihilate it instantly: might as well end the discussion right away, as mutual understanding becomes impossible.

In a medical context, this mechanism becomes even more insidious. Asking a child to “not be afraid” during care creates an impossible emotional equation. Fear is present, very real, and the order to make it disappear becomes itself a source of new anxiety.

It’s like asking someone:

The child finds themselves in a position of programmed failure. They cannot succeed in the impossible mission assigned to them, which generates a feeling of incompetence and frustration and undermines the relationship with the caregiver.

These injunctions create a communication breakdown. The child (or adult) feels misunderstood, invalidated in their emotional experience, and judged for what they naturally feel.

In the care relationship, this is even more critical. The patient can develop defensive mechanisms such as hiding emotions, distrust towards the caregiver, and keeping them at a distance, along with a negative anticipation of future care.

The consequences are, beyond an unpleasant and invalidating experience in the moment, the risk of avoiding or delaying care when it becomes necessary again, and at the moment of care, a greater apprehension that will make them more complicated.

Instead of “Don’t be afraid“, imagine:

“I see you’re feeling anxious. It’s normal and brave to recognize that. Together, we’ll get through this moment.”

Or, my preferred combination: “I can reassure you –”

It’s important to provide a concrete and tangible element after the dash. Often, redirecting the child to a secure base (parental presence, the possibility of hugging a teddy bear, the prospect of quickly returning to autonomy, the reassuring presence of a reference caregiver) is an excellent way to refocus their attention on a positive element that helps them better self-regulate.

Another possibility is to respond to their fear: “I can reassure you, thanks to the cream I’ll put on your forehead, it will be easy and comfortable to repair what happened to you.” Notice the use of facilitating words (comfortable, easy) and the circumlocution that replaces suturing or stitching with “repair”.

Obviously, as with any attempt to reassure a child, we take care to avoid focusing on negative elements (it won’t hurt) or projecting our own fears onto the child (you’ll see, it won’t burn).

Instead of “Relax“, prefer:

“You can relax your arm. I’ll take care of everything, and you can look the other way if you want.”

Giving a realistic goal expectation, focusing on a limited area of the body can help the child to get self-conscious of an excessive amount of muscular tension and help achieve the goal of relaxation. Again, providing a helpful framework (the my job / your job dichotomy) also contributes to the felling of empowerment.

Instead of “Stop crying”, opt for:

“I see you’re feeling a lot of emotions. It’s normal, and I’m listening.”

I mean, this one doesn’t even needs to be explained. Asking a child to simply stop crying should’nt be a thing after the 1980’s…

Accompanying a child through a moment of care is above all the art of being present, listening, and guiding with kindness. Language is not just a communication tool; it’s a vector of appeasement and comfort.

Every word counts. Every sentence can either add tension or create a space of emotional safety.

Because ultimately, recognizing emotion is already the first step to transforming it.