What a small French child making sand castles can teach us about emotional regulation
I spent every day in October on the Mediterranean Sea. On cooler days, I walked its edges; on warmer ones, I swam.
I stayed in a little coastal town in Provence called La Ciotat, situated between Cassis and Sanary-sur-Mer. I chose this spot because I found an affordable Airbnb within walking distance from the water, which is how I’ve been making a lot of living decisions these days. I learned years ago that regularly submerging myself in water is essential, so I make it a point to orient around coastlines, lakes, or hot springs, and when I cannot, bathtubs.
Compared to Cassis or Sanary-sur-Mer, La Ciotat is a lesser-known vacation town where many people in France spend their summers. Because of this, I got to observe what felt like very authentic French culture. No one spoke English, wine was encouraged at all hours of the day, and dog poop remained where the dogs had left it.
One of my favorite places to take in French culture was sur la plage. I noticed a few things that made the French seaside feel distinctly different from beach culture in the US.
Exercise culture in and around the water was strong, especially among older generations. There was a pack of older people with matching orange hats who waded through the waist-deep water back and forth every day, rain or shine, laughing and chatting as they went. There was a notable absence of obesity on the beach.
Fathers with their children peppered the beaches, with mothers nowhere in sight. I noticed how different that felt from the US, where it’s much more common to see mothers with their children, sans dad. I was surprised by how charmed I was, witnessing so many fathers spending this playful time with their kids.
There was a general air of nonchalance on the beaches in France. People did not seem to care what they looked like, swimming in everything from t-shirts and pants to ill-fitting bathing suits to no bathing suits at all. The children, in particular, were mostly naked.
I saw a photo on Instagram of an American baby at the beach, covered almost completely with a long-sleeved swimsuit, wide-brimmed hat, and little baby sunglasses, and every inch of skin that was showing was white with a thick layer of sunscreen. The baby was situated in a plastic pool, creating an impenetrable physical barrier between their body and the sand.
In La Ciotat, naked kids played on the shore, sand sticking to every crease, soon to be washed away at bathtime or in the waves before they left the beach. No one seemed concerned.
Kids played intently and unselfconsciously, which brings me to what a small French child making sand castles can teach us about emotional regulation.
On one of the warmer, sunnier days, I watched a little girl, probably around six or seven years old, working hard on her sandcastle right at the water's edge. I watched her build for a long time, focused and unbothered by the chaos of children playing around her. And then a wave came a little too high up and ruined everything she had built.
She stilled completely.
As she stared at the destruction under her nose, she breathed, and I could both see and feel the disappointment and frustration wash over her like a wave of its own. I didn’t take my eyes off her, and after about a minute, she let out a big sigh and began to move again and rebuild.
It’s three months later, and I’m still thinking about that little girl. She made what so many of us adults struggle with look so simple.
She didn’t throw a tantrum. She didn’t look up and search outside herself for mom or dad to come to the rescue. She didn't let the very real frustration and disappointment discourage her from building again. She simply felt the emotion, let it take as long as it took, and then moved on.
It seems simple, but as I keep going deeper with my own work and that of clients, I encounter again and again how incredibly hard it can be to allow ourselves to feel without pushing the feeling away, numbing it, or trying to fix it.
From a young age, we’re taught to chase 'good' emotions and avoid 'bad' ones. We’ve come up with all kinds of creative ways to redirect when an uncomfortable emotion comes up, which leaves us convinced that we can’t actually handle the hard stuff. And the tricky part? Most of this happens beneath the surface, without us even realizing.
We scroll mindlessly, binge-watch shows, or overbook our calendars.
We’re “in a bad mood” and snap at someone we love, even though they don’t deserve it.
We overintellectualize — try to figure it out, make it make sense, or logic our way out of things like heartbreak, grief, or love.
Or we convince ourselves and others we’re fine, pretending we don’t have anything uncomfortable to feel at all.
What we’re often saying with all of this is, “I’d rather do this other thing than slow down and be with myself because I don’t know what I’ll find there, and I don’t know if I can handle it.”
Even after a decade of inner work, I still catch myself doing the very thing that little girl didn’t. My two personal favorites are looking outside myself to be rescued and feeling the feeling only to attach myself to a story about it and stay stuck in a loop.
As demonstrated by our six-year-old French friend, fully allowing an emotion doesn’t take more than a minute or two. When we find our feelings lingering, it’s likely because we’re identifying with it and/or holding on to a story about it. For example, the victim story can sound something like “That person wronged me. I am someone who is always wronged by others.” or “My sand castle was ruined. Nothing I build will last, so it’s not worth building again.”
Perhaps this little girl hasn’t yet absorbed the social conditioning we all inherit. Or maybe that conditioning looks a little different in French culture. I don’t know why she had the intuitive wisdom to allow her emotions to exist and move through her in such a simple and profound way. But I do know that children can be our teachers —and she was mine.