LETTING GO SO YOUR CHILD CAN FLY
Welcome to The Small Jar, a podcast where we explore how to intentionally design the life that you want in the space between motherhood and the empty nest. I'm your host, Jennifer Collins. Episode number 24.
Hello, my friends. I'm not going to lie, the past few weeks have been challenging. On the one hand, I've been so lucky.
I've been to the Bahamas to pick up my son. I've spent two weeks in Nantucket with my family before everyone is back off to school. And there have been moments of pure perfection.
We spent lazy days on the beach and on the boat. I took long walks and bike rides around the island. We had some fantastic nights out.
We met up with friends for a few days and spent time with family. Perfection. And yet, it was a challenging vacation for me.
Now you might be wondering why it was challenging. Here's the truth. The facts and the circumstances actually don't matter.
I could share them with you, all of the reasons why I think things should be different. You might even agree with me, empathize with me. But the facts don't matter because the past few weeks have been challenging because of my mind.
I've been having thousands of thoughts about how this or that should be different. And even though I'm fully onto myself about this, that the circumstances are not the cause of my pain, I still found it difficult at times to change my mind about my situation. This mindset work, it takes work.
Honestly, in some ways, it's easier to blame other people, blame the circumstances for how they make us feel. It's easier first because that's what we've been raised to believe. Of course, that person hurt your feelings.
No wonder you're mad. That person had no right to say those things to you. With our girlfriends, we exchange grievances about our kids, our partners, all of the things they do or don't do that leave us feeling unappreciated, frustrated and stressed out.
I'll be honest, it can feel fun and liberating to commiserate with friends about the challenges of our lives. It's a form of bonding to know that others share similar perspectives, that we're not alone in feeling the way that we do. I'd even go so far as to suggest that it makes us feel a little bit more in control to blame others.
When we find ourselves getting angry or frustrated about someone else's behavior, we feel justified in our anger. Our complaints are well founded, legitimate. In essence, we're right and the other person is wrong.
And by the way, my friends all agree with me. It feels a little bit better for a bit to hold on to the belief that the other person's wrong and you're right. It feels better until that person doesn't change just because we think we're right.
We find ourselves in a spiral feeling some sense of control in our righteousness, and then feeling powerless in our ability to change other people. This shows up in so many different ways in many aspects of our lives, we don't even realize it. But we find ourselves constantly trying to control what other people do, what they think of us, how they show up with us, and how they show up in their own lives.
As I've been grappling with the reasons why I found the past few weeks challenging, I started to realize how much of my pain was coming down to me struggling with letting go. And to a large extent, even though it's hard to admit it, a loss of control, particularly as it relates to my children. Now bear with me for a minute, because I want to say I don't think of myself as an overbearing or particularly controlling parent, although my kids might disagree.
In fact, most of the time, I feel like I pride myself on giving my kids the space to be who they are, supporting them in their dreams and their interests, believing in them, but not trying to force them to be who I want them to be. As my boys have grown up, I've had to adapt. I think of parenting as a continuous cycle of learning.
The minute you have a particular stage mastered, your child is on to the next one. And subsequent kids don't necessarily follow the same path. It's emotionally charged on-the-job training, to say the least.
And not one of us goes into parenting thinking, I'm going to be a terrible parent today. And yet, in the process of literally trying to do your best every minute of every day, you sometimes look back and find out you might have been wrong. Or at least it's pretty clear your kids think you're doing it wrong.
You realized you might have been too lenient or too strict, that you might have overreacted, miscalculated, said the wrong thing, or not said enough, ignored the warning signs, or assumed your kid was up to no good when they were actually following the rules. If we could go back in time and change something about what we said or did as parents, there might be times that we would happily do that. A week ago, I found myself saying to my husband, if I could just go back in time and do things differently, maybe we wouldn't be here.
I was clearly in it, caught up in a story about how if I could just fix the past, do something now to make up for my mistake, I could fix the present, maybe even control the future. My husband sagely responded, you don't know that anything would be different. It's possible that we would always have ended up here.
Do you remember the good old days when our babies cried? We may not always have known exactly how to fix the problem, particularly after we had gone through the standard bottle, diaper, nap time solutions. There might've been times when we couldn't make our babies happy, but we probably didn't take it personally. Did we feel frustrated and exhausted? Absolutely.
But did we feel hurt and betrayed, unappreciated? Probably not. Our baby was just doing what babies do. Even as our kids grew up to be toddlers and kids in elementary school, again, we couldn't always make our kids happy, but we rarely perceived that their moods were our fault.
And it was so easy to set boundaries. We were in control of where our kids were at all times. They didn't have minds of their own, actually.
I mean, maybe they had opinions about how they wanted to spend their time, but ultimately so much of what they did seemed to be in our control. And back then, except for the times when we had to dole out some punishment for bad behavior, for the most part, our kids wanted to be with us. When we planned adventures, we were heroes.
Vacations were an endless slideshow of fun times and smiling faces. Of course there were meltdowns, tantrums, sibling fights, but the issues were more like passing thunderstorms than a monsoon season. Then the kids become teens and young adults on their way to college, and they feel acutely that they are on the brink of independence.
Every child is different in how they navigate these years, but one thing that seems predictable is that there is absolutely no way to predict how these years will go. Is there a way of navigating these waters perfectly so that you maintain a perfect, connected relationship with your child throughout their teen years and during their time in college? Parenting experts certainly would suggest that there's a right way, or at least a better way to navigate this time. Offer clear and accepting communication, set boundaries, pick your battles, don't take it personally.
Most parenting blogs will tell you that it's normal for your teen to pull away and try to establish their independence. This also unfortunately involves them evaluating the parts of you, their parent, that they like and they don't like. They have mood swings, they can be withdrawn or angry, they definitely want to spend more time with friends than with you.
All of this is fine and something we probably expected until it actually happens to you and you're thrown for a loop. I'll admit I've always been a bit of a worrier when it comes to my children, but over the past few years my anxiety related to my kids has flown off the charts. As I honestly observe how I have reacted, how I have responded to my boy's very individual ways of growing up, I realize how much I had been under the admittedly false assumption that when my kids were acting according to my expectations that I must have been doing something right as a parent.
During those times when our kids are more or less following the path that we hope for them, whether we do it consciously or not, we often give ourselves a mental high five that we're killing it as parents. It may be subtle, but think about it during those times when your kids are seemingly happy, safe, and generally moving in the right direction in life. Can we all just give ourselves the collective hug that these are the moments that we live for as parents? We want them to be happy, healthy, safe, successful.
And the success part, it's all relative. Some parents aspire for their kids to go to ivy league colleges and pursue high-paying careers while others simply hope that their children will find jobs to support themselves and their families and be happy. Happy, healthy, safe, successful.
How each of us defines these terms as they relate to our children are different and may even change over time as our kids grow up and begin to identify their own vision for success. But it's interesting to take note of what your own definitions of these terms are for your child. Let's start with safe.
In a perfect world, what would this mean for you? How much risk would you allow? Would you be comfortable with them experimenting with drugs? How much alcohol is okay and at what age? How late should they stay out? What kinds of friends should they have? What kind of boyfriend or girlfriend? What type of relationship should they have and how intimate should it be? I bet you have opinions. I have opinions about my own kids. I also bet our kids have opinions and they're likely entirely different from our own opinions.
Intellectually, we know our kids are going to test boundaries and experiment. Come on, we all did in our own way as young adults. But now that we're adults, it's hard not to judge how much risk is acceptable for our kids.
And let me be clear, I'm not at all saying that we shouldn't have boundaries and expectations with our kids, at least as long as they're living at home with us. But at what point do we drop these expectations and boundaries? At what point do we let go of control? Now, the word control can have negative connotations, but when I'm talking about control, I'm thinking of it in this sense, having the power to influence or direct someone's behavior, also to supervise. In some ways, this feels like the definition of parenthood.
Isn't it our responsibility to supervise and direct our children, to offer a positive influence? We don't mean to be overbearing or authoritarian. In fact, when we exert influence over children, it stems from love and a fierce sense of responsibility. It's my job as a parent to influence my children.
Motherhood has given me such a gift. I have the privilege of raising these two beautiful human beings. And along with that privilege has come a weighty responsibility to keep them alive and to help them become thriving individuals.
Our values as parents might lead us to focus on different things as it relates to what we want for our children and the way that we want them to show up in the world. But we each take it upon ourselves as parents, as our responsibility to influence and direct our according to these values. I was talking with my father recently and I asked him what his experience with me as a teenager was on my way to college.
He kind of laughed and said, well, your mother bore the brunt of that. And I consider her the true hero. That might give you an indication of the type of teenager I was.
But he went on to say, my philosophy was that my job was to do my best when instilling you the values I thought were important, but that my job was done by the time you were 12 and that you were going to have to figure out from there what to do with those values. I'd love it to be that simple. And look, as our teens explore their independence, they'll likely experiment and test boundaries.
But that doesn't actually mean that they haven't listened or that the values you've hoped to instill in them aren't fully ingrained, only perhaps now being questioned a little, tested. But the point of this isn't to offer parenting advice or to analyze how our kids find independence. My focus is actually on us as mothers and how we respond to the changing seasons of our children's lives.
As I evaluate my own track record as a parent recently and the things that I've been doing that haven't worked, I've realized that in the name of wanting the best for my children, wanting to protect them, to keep them safe, happy, and healthy, that in the midst of pursuing these valiant goals, what I've missed is that I've actually been fighting to maintain control. And again, I really don't think I have an agenda. I'd like to think I've supported my children's dreams for themselves and not specific dreams I have for them.
But as they've tested boundaries and pulled away, I've become increasingly uncomfortable and uncertain of my ability to fulfill my responsibility as a mother to keep them safe, happy, and healthy. I found myself endlessly worried and anxious when they're out late or if they don't immediately respond to my texts or phone calls. I've stressed about school deadlines, whether they've put in enough effort, if they're connected with friends, if they're spending time with the wrong friends.
I've stuck my nose into their romantic relationships. So much new territory for us as parents to navigate. And I don't know if we give ourselves enough compassion in the many transitions that we experience as our children grow up to become adults.
Where's the rulebook? Please, someone give me a strategy that works without fail. Because look, I'm human. We're all human.
And even experts must struggle in the relationships they have with their own teens and young adults. Because it's one thing to execute a strategy when there's no emotion, when you don't have skin in the game. These are our kids, though.
Our life's work. The perceived stakes of doing it wrong seem so high. My mother, who has a PhD in counseling and is an incredibly accomplished professional, has told me often that she was lost at times when it came to parenting me, with my dramatic outbursts and unpredictable mood swings.
I love her for these assurances. It makes me understand that we are all human and doing the best that we can. We worry and we hope that if we're able to identify enough risks ahead of time, that we can avert danger, keep our kids safe.
We also judge. We might not realize it, but we do. We have expectations for how we think our kids should show up.
And when they do something different, we let them know. Imagine how it would feel for you as an adult to have someone constantly checking on you, calling you out for being a few minutes late, telling you to brush your hair or change your clothes, reminding you to do your work, asking about deadlines, telling you you should do it differently. All of the time.
We don't do this to each other as adults. Well, I hope not. And if we do, it often backfires, but we do it to our teenagers.
Well, look, we've had to do it for them as children. So of course we're still doing it. It's honestly a habit.
Reminding our kids is like brushing our teeth. We've been doing it for so long. We don't even have to think about it anymore.
But then there comes a point when our children bristle under the weight of our reminders, our constant oversight, the boundaries we set. And look, I don't mean at all to imply that our teens' mood swings are entirely attributable to how we're showing up. In fact, we're likely only one small factor in the equation of their life.
I often laugh that my boys probably spend about five minutes a day thinking about me, whereas I spend 22 hours a day thinking about them without fail. Which one of us has the problem? On one of my long walks in Nantucket, I began to ask myself if there was one habit I could give up as it relates to my kids, what would it be? I thought about it for a while and what I came up with was control. And this encapsulates a lot for me and doesn't mean that I'm giving up on setting boundaries or even some expectations.
I think the biggest aspect of control that I'm willing to practice letting go is my habit of thinking I know what's best and that there's only one way to do things. It also involves letting go of the thought that my kids need me. Look, I hope they'll always love me, but lately the assumption that my kids need me hasn't been serving me because it's been driving me to check up on them, to monitor how they're showing up.
It's been exhausting for me and totally annoying for them. What if my kids don't need me? And what if that is actually the goal? I mentioned before in a prior podcast that my son spent six weeks studying the Bahamas. Now this is my baby and he has type 1 diabetes.
He was diagnosed when he was almost four. So for the past 11 years, I've taken primary responsibility over keeping him safe. My husband too, of course.
But one of the ways that I have taken on the responsibility of keeping him safe has been to be available throughout the night to monitor him for high and low blood sugars. It can be terrifying, actually. Technology has made it so much easier, but technology fails.
And even when his continuous glucose monitor would alarm in the middle of the night, I would often find himself sound asleep in his room with the alarm blaring. And more often than not, I would be the one to wake him up and give him juice. Suffice it to say, I had evidence that he needed me to keep him safe.
So letting him go to the Bahamas for six weeks took a huge leap of faith on our part. Our son, for the first time in his life, would be responsible for managing his high and low blood sugars overnight. And we knew he was fully capable when he was awake.
He would also be responsible for remembering his insulin pump wherever he went, charging his devices, managing the inventory of his diabetes supplies, regularly changing his insulin pump and his separate glucose monitor. A lot to remember. As we sent him off, we did have some comfort that there was a medical team on staff who would be helping to support him.
And there was, but the team gave him quite a bit more independence than we ever had. In fact, my son spent 40 hours absolutely alone on a remote beach. It was part of the curriculum of the school to experience a solo mission.
He gave up his phone because he knew he would be tempted to use it to entertain himself. And in giving up his phone, he gave up any connection he had to those who might be monitoring his glucose levels remotely. He was entirely on his own.
I was aware that he had a solo mission, but I did not think it would involve him giving up his phone. I was also under the impression that I would be able to remotely see his glucose numbers throughout the six-week trip. And in reality, because he was on a fairly remote island, cell service was incredibly spotty.
And so in fact, I had limited to no insight into his glucose levels for six weeks. And you know what? It turned out to be a beautiful thing for me and for him. I was forced to let go.
It was difficult for the first week. I checked the CGM app constantly hoping for an update. I emailed his advisor.
I counted the hours until our weekly calls with him, but it seemed to be going okay. I stopped expecting to get updates. I started trusting that he was going to be okay.
I started trusting him. He's been home now for a few weeks, and I don't check on him nearly as often. I used to check nine to 10 times a day.
I've realized I will go full days without checking. His numbers have been better than ever. He's on it.
And I couldn't be more proud of him and actually of me. I've learned to let go, at least in this respect. And this doesn't take away the danger.
He's not cured, but it has allowed me to grow into a new relationship with my son and my trust in his ability to take care of himself. It's scary to take the leap to trust that our kids are able to take care of themselves. If we're honest, it also involves us letting go of the thought that they need us, that without us they'll forget, fail, be in danger, or not know what to do.
What I'm realizing is that not only is it possible that they don't need me anymore, that they honestly don't want my input. The more I try to assert my opinion or offer my help, the more they push me away. And it's okay.
They are actually doing what they are supposed to be doing. So now it's my turn to learn. It strikes me that I have been letting go of my boys since the moment they were born.
Letting go of breastfeeding, letting go of their hands as they learn to walk, letting go of nightly cuddles, letting go of the bike seat as they learn to ride a two-wheeler. In those moments of letting go, I expected my kids to struggle a bit. I knew they would fall when they first started to walk.
I knew they would likely fall again as they learn to ride their bike. I guess the difference was that in those moments of letting go, I knew that they still needed me. Now as I let go, I'm starting to wonder what's on the other side of this big step for them and for me.
Now I'm not just letting go of their hands, I'm letting go of being right, of knowing what's best for them. Now I've been a mother for a relatively long time, and I still don't feel like I get it right most of the time. This transition is complicated.
You do what you think is best in the moment, and in hindsight, you're not sure. We judge ourselves, we judge our children, but what if there is no right path? What if it's just you and your adult child doing the best they can to navigate the world? Relationships, dreams, failure. Right now I'm working on loving myself instead of judging myself.
I'm learning, I'm growing, I'm doing the best I can. This is what I hope for my children, and this is what I can practice for myself. Letting go.
Letting go of being right. Letting go of being needed. Letting go of my role as someone who influences and directs my children.
I'm beginning to wonder, in fact, how much control I have ever had. They've grown up to be these two beautiful human beings, and maybe I contributed to that, but maybe this is also just who they were destined to be, and it's perfect. All of it.
This next stage, it requires me to let go so they can fly, or fail, and then pick themselves up and fly again. We've been practicing letting go of our children for their entire lives. We've got this.
Until next time, friends.
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