Tatiana L. (LSI) - Discipline, Sport, and the Search for Kindness

A Large Family and Strict Rules

I come from a large family. There were five girls and six boys. The discipline in our family was very strict. We always had to sit down for meals at the exact same time. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner—everyone had to be together. No one was allowed to talk at the table; any talking was punished.

My father was very demanding of us. If he said to be home at nine o'clock, you had to be there at nine. If he told you not to go somewhere, you didn't go.

A Turning Point: Choosing Sports

I grew up as a sickly, emotional, and anxious child. I remember a moment in my life when an ambulance arrived, and they thought I had died. Everyone was screaming and wailing, but it wasn't my time—they managed to revive me. After that, seeing the situation, my father took me to the stadium. He said, "You are going to do sports to toughen yourself up."

So, I started sports in the fourth grade. I was very good at running and jumping, and I began ice skating and cycling. By the fifth grade, I started track and field seriously. I loved it because I was better at it than anyone else; it came naturally to do, and I wanted to show what I was capable of, to prove myself. Later on, I took up slalom skiing. There was so much adrenaline, so much excitement!... And I felt no fear.

An Active Childhood

My childhood was highly active. We participated in a drama club and did dancing—we weren't forbidden from doing that. I also played the domra for a very long time, probably three or four years. I had no time for any foolishness! I had a system: school, activities, and so on...

My childhood was simply wonderful! There were no bad people around us, only positive role models.

Warm Neighbors and Shared Yards

I always wanted to visit our neighbor, for example, and listen to him play the piano. Conservatory students would come to his place, and he would practice with them. It was deeply interesting to me, and we were always let in. Other neighbors always threw home parties and would call out to us: "Knock, knock, knock—come over, kids!" And we would go. We always lived in harmony... Back then, we had shared yards, and children would always gather there without running off too far. There were no secrets between us; everyone knew everyone.

Life after the war wasn't exactly prosperous; people made do with what they had. The first TV appeared at our neighbors' house, and they put it outside on the street. I remember watching the movie Hamlet for the first time. I simply fell in love with it and felt all its tragedy... Seeing Smoktunovsky, I thought, "Wow, what an incredible actor!"

Sports as a Way of Life

From the fifth grade, I took sports seriously. I was already competing at a high level, running, jumping, and traveling everywhere for training camps. I was already achieving success; I lived for sports.

There were also Pioneer camps: an active life in those camps, an active life at school—we danced, we sang... My childhood was a blast!

The Value of Discipline and Requests

The strict upbringing didn't hinder me. At the very least, it taught me discipline: coming home on time, taking responsibility for what you do and for the tasks assigned to you... In general, that's just the kind of person I am in life: if I am told to do something, I do it. I believe everyone should know that they need to contribute to the family. A child must have responsibilities.

I like everything to be in its place. But to get a child like that to do something, you have to ask them nicely. People always approached me calmly. For instance, they would say, "Tanya, there's no bread at home, could you go buy some?" and I would go and buy it. For me, that was completely normal. Or, if I was running around the yard playing my games, they would just call me and say, "Tanyukh, we need this and that done." They didn't command me; they asked me: "This needs to be done." Since I knew it was necessary, I couldn't say "I don't want to." I couldn't even utter that word. What do you mean, "I don't want to"? Who else would go? Not Mom, she wouldn't run. Not the others who were at work. So I went. I did a lot of things.

Rebellion and Respect

I handled my parents' orders well, but not my older sisters'. There was a certain resistance inside me. I remember my sister Annushka making me wash the floors. She snapped at me: "Do this, do it that way!" She was already quite grown up and had a sharp voice... And I resisted! I could grab a galosh and throw it at her, yelling, "Why are you shouting at me?!" She could catch me by my braid and just hit me because she needed to force me to do it.

I was always sensitive to how people approached me. If someone came up and said, "Tanya, this needs to be done, like this and like that." It needs to be done—so I went and did it. Being asked meant a respectful attitude. That was very important, and it still sticks with me today: if someone treats me with respect and warmth, I am ready to go out of my way for them. But the moment you feel a command, everything inside tightens up.

I was just lucky in life; I surrounded myself with people older than me, who were smart, attentive, and kind, and I always felt nothing but goodwill. When there were no orders, just: "Tanyukha, you can do this, you have the skills." That was it. I can do it. I would fly as if on wings. But as soon as they start saying, "You blockhead, you can't even do this,"—that's it, I freeze. Indeed, nothing works out, and I can't do anything.

Boarding School and the Drive to Be First

For three years—sixth, seventh, and eighth grades—I lived in a boarding school. Classes in the morning, then free time for training, then self-study to do homework, and if the evening was free, I was back at the stadium. The only thing I lacked time for was music, which I would have loved to pursue. But hanging around doing nothing was uninteresting to me. I had to be doing something all the time—moving, learning things, getting to know people, getting to know other kids, developing physically... I handled all these loads easily.

Physical exertion in the body brings pleasure. Most importantly, smart, mature adults were always by my side. When my coach introduced me to skiing, she didn't force me; she just made it an interesting game. Whether you can do it or not, whether it's interesting or not... Seeing how others did it, I always wanted to do it better. Or at least just as well as them. I always had that drive; I wanted it. And if I went out onto the stadium, I wanted to be first because I trained systematically!

And when we ran on the street and played—there were many kids back then—I also wanted to be first. And I knew I had more endurance than most. The others trained occasionally, but I already had a system!

I ran the 100-meter sprint well and jumped very far; for those times, when I jumped five meters, everyone was surprised. I was so small, yet so springy. I skied well too. I had a coach, Yuri Sanych—warm, big, and gentle. His primary goal was for all of us to get an education first. He used to say, "You need to study. Sports are good, but you must study. This is your future." He never forced us to do anything. Smart people came to the stadium, and I always liked that. I would look at myself and realize I lacked that knowledge, and I heard things there that you would never find out or hear in a boarding school.

Growing Through Sports and Lifelong Connections

Later, I switched to speed skating, and my whole life was spent on skates. Everything accumulated bit by bit, gradually: a base of knowledge, my muscles grew, and my mind matured. My attitude toward people became completely different: I already knew who I wanted to communicate with and who I didn't. I went toward the people who interested me because they knew so much that I could never have learned anywhere else. Interacting with them was fascinating because the coach would seat the older athletes next to him, and we would sit in a circle and talk. I was interested in how they ran their races. Where they had been abroad. What the attitude toward our visitors was like abroad—I learned everything from there, everything from sports, everything from that coach.

When I enrolled in the construction technical college, I got lucky again! There was a teacher who took me in like his own daughter, and once again, I put down deep roots. As I always say: real relationships are when a warm person reaches out to you.

Choosing a Path and a Lesson in Rebellion

Why did I go into construction?.. My brother Boris's wife had a sister who was studying at a construction technical college. So, I decided to go into construction simply because Valentina was studying there. It seemed completely normal to follow her path. Besides, physics and mathematics were going quite well for me.

Russian language, however, was a different story. I had been an straight-A student in Russian until the fourth grade. But in the fifth grade, adolescence hit, we transitioned from class to class with various teachers moving around, and my interest shifted toward sports, causing my passion for academics to fade. At that pivotal moment, there was no adult around to remind me that studying still mattered. I was just cruising along on my past momentum.

When a solid foundation is already laid, you study well, but in the middle of the fifth grade, we had a dictation quiz, and the teacher gave me a 'C'. I told myself, "Well, to hell with you then! You gave me a C, so I'm not going to study at all anymore." I acted out of pure spite. I started doing everything in reverse, losing all interest in both Russian language and literature, since the same teacher taught both subjects. He had graded me fairly, but he should have explained it to me: "Tatyana, you've neglected your studies for sports." At the very least, someone needed to say that to me. They needed to say, "We care about you." They should have said what Yuri Sanych always told me: "Look, this is for your future, you need to build a foundation for what's ahead."

When spoken to like that, your brain starts working, and you realize that you actually need it. But here, he just handed out a 'C' without any evaluation or discussion; he never asked, "Gan, you used to study so well, what happened?" I remember it vividly: that was it, I stopped trying, and the subject lost all meaning to me. I interpreted his behavior as indifference. I felt like I didn't matter to him. He wasn't interested in me, so he never asked, "Why did your grades drop? What happened?"

An adult's involvement is absolutely essential. And it must come with warmth—not hurting the child, but gently guiding them to the core of the matter.

The Need for Guidance, Not Force

In my childhood, I needed people to trust me and give me complete independence. I studied entirely on my own for four years, but by the fifth year, my focus shifted elsewhere. My parents should have noticed that I had become consumed by sports and that my studies had taken a back seat. Children get easily carried away by things, and if they take a liking to something, they dive right in... It is one thing to force a child, but quite another to guide them.

It would have been much better if my parents had introduced me to different professions. I went to the technical college simply because it was there. If I had known or understood other options, I naturally wouldn't have chosen it. Parents need to show active involvement.

Deep down, I felt a calling: "I want to go into medicine." I wanted it very badly because it felt like a pure profession, all about connecting with people. It seemed to me that teachers and medical workers held the finest professions. One heals the soul, while the other heals the body. They held absolute authority in my eyes. I genuinely listened to people who possessed firm knowledge, and to older individuals who spoke from the wisdom of their lived experiences.

In everyone else, I looked for kindness. When I see someone approaching me with genuine kindness, not just wanting to force me to change my mind but genuinely caring, saying, "Tanya, just try to understand it yourself"—that makes all the difference. Relationships like that are incredibly vital to a person, whether in the family, at work, or anywhere else.

A Father's Warmness

My father had a wonderful attitude toward me as a child. Everyone used to say, "Tanya, you are just a naturally affectionate person." And my father felt that affection. I gravitated toward him, despite the fact that he could be rough at times. I could ask him, "Dad, read this to me, do this for me," or "I want to go with you, take me along." And he took me everywhere with him; we traveled and walked everywhere together. He would always pick me up in his arms, hold me close, and carry me.

Spiders and the Traps of Life

During childhood, a fear crept into me. I was terrified of insects, and I am still afraid of them to this day, especially spiders. We used to run along the roofs in our yards, and I would watch the insects. A kind of revulsion and fear grew inside me. It feels to me like people can be exactly the same. A spider sits there, beautiful and shiny, reigning regally with a cross on its back, so large... But the moment something falls into its web, it gets wrapped up tighter and tighter. And I have that exact same fear—God forbid you fall into a trap, and someone treats you like that: thump-thump-thump, wrapping you up. And that's it.

There is a deep-seated caution inside me. It is always there; it has followed me through life. There is a lingering suspicion toward people. I am always on my guard.

A Terrifying Encounter at the Chkalov Stairs

By nature, I have been open to kindness since childhood; I instantly respond to it. There was an incident once: I was supposed to meet a young man who had come to our city, Nizhny, for ski jumping. We agreed to meet by the Chkalov Stairs, while his group was staying at the "Rossiya" hotel. I arrived early. As I stood waiting, an elderly man walked by. I was in a distracted state of mind, simply waiting.

The man approached me with a request: "I need to get down there." I replied, "You can walk down here, then there, and over there." He answered, "I can't make it down, there's snow and it's too difficult for me." I thought to myself, "Lord, I still have some time. I should help." So I said, "Well, hold onto me." He took my arm. Suspecting absolutely nothing, we walked along normally. We reached the spot where the path leads into a small alley. He said, "I need to take a breath." "Alright, let's rest." Meanwhile, I was still waiting, knowing my friend was supposed to arrive. I was scattered, unable to quickly switch my focus and stay alert.

Suddenly, I felt the man touching me. And right then, like being caught in a spiderweb, it flashed through my mind: something is happening right now that could turn into an absolute tragedy for me.

I instantly curled into a ball, realizing what was happening to me—even though this man was old, he was still stronger than I was! I had to do something because it was dark, it was winter, around five or six in the evening. A panic-induced terror gripped me; my legs turned to jelly, and I couldn't figure out what to do. Then I noticed some boys sledding down the hills, and my brain started clicking into gear. The first thing that came to my mind was to tell him, "I'm going to call my boys right now, I'll yell to them," and I started screaming. Just names: "Serezha! Vanya! Vasya!" I don't even remember what names I shouted. I felt fear instantly strike him, and I snapped, "They're going to beat the living lights out of you!" He immediately went limp, let go of me, and I flew up the hill at full sail. Once I got away, I burst into hysterics.

But just try telling anyone about that at home! They would say, "You're such a fool, where was your head?!" Because of that, I now know that anything can happen, absolutely anything. My sister keeps asking me, "Tanya, why are you so suspicious?" I always want to fire back, "Anya, have you never had things like that happen to you in life? Well, I have."

Finding Peace at the Stadium

I love the stadium. When I come to the stadium, I see joyful, cheerful children. There, people are focused on the most important thing to them, and you don't have to overthink: "Why did I speak to you that way, why did he do that..." None of that exists there; you just get out on the ice and put in the work. I blend into that system, start training, and get into the zone. When I arrive at the stadium, people say to me, "Hello! You look so wonderful today!" Everyone is so kind... everyone! That is how I escape from it all.

With strangers, a child who has been through this is instantly frightened. Terrified from the start. They don't know what expects them, so they are always on edge, waiting to see what will happen next. That is how I am all the time.

Love, Trust, and Open Communication

I have always wanted to be loved. Love is when people trust you, and you trust them back. It's when you can walk up to someone and calmly explain what you need without fear, without hiding your feelings, and simply connect. A parent must be attentive, open, and warm toward their children—approachable and free of arrogance. Arrogance terrifies me. It instantly makes me feel like a complete fool, and I find myself thinking, "Is this person actually smart, or are they just pretending? How should I act in this situation? Should I play along or just keep quiet?"

Being afraid to ask an adult a question is a massive hurdle for children like that. I remember it from my own childhood—my older girlfriends told me things that I really should have learned within my own family. But because everyone in our home was guarded and kept to themselves, that communication never happened. A person picks up a lot of information from the streets, but all of that should really come from the family! There must be openness and accessible information.

To avoid pushing a child away, parents need to be ready for a conversation. Don't approach them when they are deeply occupied. But if a child wants to ask something, they can't always wait; they need to process a whole stream of information right then and there. Parents need to set aside their chores for a moment. There must be focused attention on the child, and the child shouldn't feel afraid to ask. I needed to feel safe approaching my parents, knowing they could give me information tailored to my understanding.

Learning a Multi-Faceted View of the World

I have an opinion on everything. Sometimes it was harshly shut down: "No, you're a fool, you're wrong." You mention that there are ways to approach things from different angles. I see things from one side, but it's completely possible to look at them from another. I need things explained to me in a way that allows me to realize: yes, my point of view exists, but one can also look at it from a different perspective. I need information broken down so that I can fully digest it.

A child like me needs proof of alternative perspectives brought down to their level of understanding. And this is incredibly vital! Children need to be taught to approach a problem from multiple angles; only then will there be no resentment, no shutting down, and no stubborn ego blocking them—the kind that says, "This is how I see it, and that's final."

We must teach a well-rounded, multi-faceted perception of things. If you do that, problems disappear, and a child learns to understand the person next to them. They learn to both understand and accept people as they are, even with a differing opinion. If you don't teach a person this, the problem will stick with them forever, leaving them unable to think any other way.

My own vision, for the most part, has been one-sided. So many mistakes were made, but I have finally realized now that you need to listen to many people. Listen, take it in, and instead of clinging to just your own single opinion, gather all views together to form one shared conclusion. If things had been done that way, there wouldn't have been any problems at all.

Communicating and Teaching Broad Perspectives

Every single issue needs to be discussed with a child like that. Talk calmly, without resentment, and without raising your voice. There is no need to aggressively convince them; simply talk, reason, and gently guide them by saying, "Tanya, your opinion is good, of course, but it can also be done another way. We could do it like this." Then, I naturally come around and say, "You're right."

I worry about everything, you see. And that stubbornness... I find myself wondering, "Why didn't they understand you?" It still happens to me to this day.

A child like that must be taught multi-faceted thinking because they only see things from one angle, and as a result, both they and the people around them suffer.

The Loop of Guilt, Apologies, and Stubbornness

If a child like that hurts someone, they immediately start overanalyzing it. I begin to dissect it: "Why did I say that? Why did I do that? Why did I hurt them?" At first, I try to brush it off: "Well, what's done is done." But then my conscience starts gnawing at me again—tap, tap, tap, tap. So, I go and apologize. But people often don't understand why you are apologizing; they assume it means you were entirely in the wrong, and they hurt you all over again. Then you think, "Why did I even approach that person?" You weren't understood. That is a very frightening feeling.

Consequently, you start stubbornly pushing your own "I" forward, even knowing deep down that you are wrong. You follow your own ego just out of spite toward the other person, only to regret it later. I believe this is wrong, and you end up blaming yourself all over again.

People always used to criticize me: "Tanya, why are you asking your child for forgiveness? You can't do that with children. If you punished them, stick to it. If you said something, stand by it." But I would reply, "I feel that I lost my temper and acted wrongly. Why shouldn't I apologize to my child if I am wrong?!" However, the child must also understand: if I am apologizing, they need to make compromises too, so we can reach a common solution together.

Goals and Intentions

Throughout my life, I have always set specific goals. Absolutely. When I was in school, I loved measuring up to the best. I wanted to be just as good as anyone else, for example, in my studies. I had a strong desire to learn something interesting from people who had unique hobbies. I wanted to meet fascinating people who could offer something I lacked. In sports, knowing I had built a solid foundation, my goal was to achieve the highest athletic rank. I even had a goal to get married—I decided I must get married, and I did!

Clarity in Relationships

I feel comfortable when I am at home, when everything is peaceful, and when everything between us is completely clear and understood. I am deeply sensitive to when people don't want to talk to me or when they don't want to associate with me. People might tell me, "Oh, come on, it's just a bad mood today." But I need an explanation. You don't even have to speak; you can feel how people treat you. After all, words are just words—they must be backed up by actions, by care, and by understanding.

Sometimes I fall into depressions. My first depression was massive—it lasted seven years, maybe even longer. It left a deep scar in my memory. The root cause of that depression was betrayal: when a person you fully trust, someone you believe would never betray you, does exactly that. I lived with that pain for a long time. What I really should have done was meet up with them and talk it out completely; that would have released it all. But I didn't do it.

When there are no problems in relationships, everything is transparent and clear—and that's when my productivity is high. The most important thing for me is absolute clarity and understanding in my relationships with people. I want to know everything as it is; I cannot stand deceit or whispered secrets.

Confidence Through Clothing and an Eye for Beauty

Now I understand that children must be trusted. We need to listen to what they want.

Regarding clothing in my childhood, my main instinct was to blend in and not stand out. For me, bright, beautiful clothes were always a source of anxiety. I couldn't bring myself to go outside in them. I felt uncomfortable, sensing everyone's eyes on me, and I didn't want that attention. It was enough for me to look neat and put-together, but not flashy. For instance, when a trendy skirt came into fashion, I would choose the color and the style entirely by myself. A child needs to like how they look. Mood heavily depends on clothing.

By the age of sixteen, I realized that it was time to dress more interestingly so that people would notice and appreciate me. And your mood definitely shifts depending on what you wear! I remember when we bought a pair of boots—I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world walking in them. And shoes were just something else entirely... It felt like my legs looked so elegant, my walk was light, and my boots were the most beautiful, the absolute best. Yet, I never compared myself to others. I have never felt any envy in my life. I just look at people and genuinely admire beautiful individuals, beautiful clothes, and nice hairstyles. I can appreciate a person as a whole. I love beautifully dressed people, beautiful apartments, beautiful houses, and lovely public parks. I am naturally drawn to beauty—it gives me energy and pure pleasure.

A child like that needs to be dressed beautifully, but in a way they personally like, so they feel confident. They need to be told, "This is beautiful, you are the most wonderful girl, take a look at yourself." It is important to be beautiful. You must present this to a child in a way that builds their self-assurance. I didn't have that, which is why I've felt somewhat insecure since childhood.

I took up sewing, and I did it completely intentionally because I had a strong desire to learn. I signed up for cutting and sewing courses, and I did excellently! I don't possess a designer's imagination—I never developed it. But it could have been developed! It could have been, and it should have been.

Deep-Seated Guilt Complexes

My parents never told me that I was a sickly child. If I had felt that, I probably would have developed an even deeper guilt complex: the feeling that I am sick and keeping them from working. I also carried a guilt complex about finances—feeling that my parents had no money at the moment, yet here I was, an extra mouth to feed.

Other complexes arise when I feel unwelcome. For example, if I walk into a new environment and don't know how to behave or how to keep a conversation going, a guilt complex instantly hits me: "Why did I even walk in at this moment?" I feel guilty for intruding into the situation when I shouldn't have.

I also felt guilty when a task had a strict deadline, but because I couldn't reach people on the phone or someone wasn't at their desk, I couldn't deliver the information on time. My boss would scold me, and I couldn't bring myself to say that someone else had delayed me. Because I am a highly responsible person, I would blame myself: "Why didn't I do this earlier? Why didn't I call in advance?!"

Even now, a guilt complex arises when I am invited to a gathering, a bathhouse, or a celebration, and I agree to go, but something weighs on me. I gave my word, but I just can't make it. Even if I call and explain that I won't be coming, the nagging feeling that people were waiting for me and I let them down stays with me. It’s a form of self-doubt.

The Stigma of a Large Family and Mutual Respect

I have seen injustice ever since childhood because I grew up in a large family. I distinctly remember one situation. It was drizzling, and I was standing in a building entrance, just watching people pass by. A woman walked past with a boy my age, and she told him, "Go give her a piece of candy. She is so poor and miserable."

You know, it put me in such a state... "I don't need your candy! What are you doing coming at me with your candy?!" It felt like pure humiliation. Those parents wanted to do something good for their own child, to teach him kindness, but in doing so, they deeply humiliated another child.

Being from a large family constantly stung. I felt lower than the people around us, and it was heavy to carry. There were people in our yard who constantly jeered at us: "Look at you all, there are so many of you, you're all so awful." They literally oppressed us, specifically trying to break our spirits. They tried to drill this idea into me, but I would think to myself, "What is actually wrong with me? What is so wrong with who I am that makes me so drastically different, say, from your own son?" When we grew up, those same people said, "My goodness, look at that family—and not a single one turned into a criminal. Incredible, they all grew up to be such good people, while we didn't have a large family, and look how our son turned out."

I always noticed the financial differences in how people lived. Since childhood, I had a very precise, clear assessment of it: "These people live well, they have wealth, and they can afford to live this way. We do not have that wealth, so we cannot afford it." That was simply my observation, but I held no resentment or grievances about it. I just love solid, good, high-quality things. If it’s a winter coat, it should be natural fur; if they are boots, they must be good and warm.

Preserving Childhood Trust without Fear

My parents allowed us to go anywhere, and I explored the world entirely on my own terms. Today, I have become much more cautious; I won't just go anywhere. I will think a hundred times about what time I am leaving, what time I will be returning, and how exactly I will get back. I have that caution now, but in my childhood, I had absolutely no sense of fear. None at all, because I knew the streets were safe, people were kind, and nobody would ever hurt me.

Should we tell a child, "Don't trust anyone?" No, you shouldn't. You shouldn't hyper-focus on it, so they don't develop a constant state of fear. People ought to be viewed as good. Everyone is good. In my childhood mindset, everyone was good and kind. And even when people remarked in front of me that my family was this or that, I pushed it all aside, scattered those thoughts, and simply reasoned, "You might not like me, but plenty of other people do."

Judging people in front of children is highly dangerous. You must never instill fears about other people into a child.

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina