 Can you feel it?
I know I can. The tide has come in and the storm is raging again. Life has returned to the pre-quarantine pace - and I can’t catch my breath. Every day feels like I’m running a 5k and the finish line keeps moving. On this race route there’s no one handing out free cups of water. There’s no one cheering me on and offering me encouragement. There are no breaks. If I slow to a walk, I’ll surely be run over by the herd of runners around me. Life is back to how it was and here we are - racing full steam ahead and this week proved that my family and I are very much out of practice for this pace of life. Bat bags left in wrong cars. Sports water bottles left on car roofs. Evenings were spent scrubbing grass stains out of white baseball pants, washing uniforms, and being reminded that our dog has an affinity for athletic cups. There are no more family dinners. We now eat at 4pm or 9pm or in the car. Mail gets stacked anywhere there is an open space in my house and the dogs are angry that they have to actually be alone in the house for longer than 30 minutes again. Last night we even had to have a family meeting to figure out how we all can manage all our necessary commitments next week - (hint: we can’t do it without a clone or two). It feels like too much and I thought we swore we wouldn’t be here again. But as I watched my oldest laughing at first base the other night, watched my youngest warming up with his team this afternoon, and watched my husband coaching with his friends again, I realized that while this fast paced life is exhausting, leaves me breathless, and makes me feel completely unprepared most days, it also is a crucial part of my family’s existence. This pace of life leaves my boys standing together in our kitchen late at night swapping stories of their practices and games. This pace of life creates connection for all of us. This pace of life creates opportunities for growth for all of us. So tonight as I watch yet another game from the outfield, I’ll remind myself that every frantic second of this stage of life right now is worth it because this pace of life is where my family is most happy. Can you feel it? I know I can.
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 Yesterday I watched my teenager play high school football for the first time.
Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was holding the newborn version of him in my arms and introducing him to the world? Back then he was just a delicate little creature and I was an insecure new mom, terrified of failing at parenting. Originally published on Grown and Flown. Click HERE to read the full article.  “Mom, I need to thank you for pushing me to go to that interview.”
My 15 year old’s words caught me so off guard that I almost choked on my sip of water. I glanced at my husband across the restaurant table and we shared an invisible high five. We did it - we made the right choice to push! If you’ve ever parented a teenager, you know that there is an almost constant struggle between pushing them too hard and not pushing them hard enough. So, when it turns out you made the right choice as a parent AND your teen appreciates it, these are the moments that you remember as a parent of a teenager. The day of the surprise thank you had started like a normal weekend day with teenagers as everyone coordinated rides, work schedules, and sports commitments. My husband and I had realized that we had a small window of opportunity that day where both teens would be busy at the same time as one would be at work and the other would be at sports practice. So, we made a reservation for a fancy new restaurant we’d been wanting to try - just the two of us. As we headed to the restaurant, my husband and I reached for each other’s hands, commenting on how nice it was to finally have some time alone for a bit of a date. Covid had really made days like today few and far between. Just as we pulled into the parking lot though, our 15 year old son texted us to let us know he was getting off of work early and needed a ride home. Right then. Yet another grown up plan thwarted. This is the life of parenting teens sometimes. Quickly reframing the moment, we changed our reservation from a party of 2 to a party of 3, pushed it back by 20 minutes, and decided to take our son out for dinner with us. As the three of us walked into the restaurant just a short time later, I couldn’t help but be transported back to so many years earlier when the three of us walked into a restaurant together for the first time. Back then, we carried our now teenager inside the restaurant via a baby carrier and he slept in my arms during our whole meal. On this day, though, he held the door for us, both of us short enough to duck under his outstretched arm to get through the door. By the time he uttered that thank you phrase about pushing him to go to his interview, I was already feeling emotional and a bit in awe. We had just spent time during our meal talking about him signing up for driver’s education classes, his course schedule for his Sophomore year of high school, his work plans for spring break, and how he could go about requesting some time off for a family vacation this summer. That’s when he put his drink down, turned to me, looked me in the eyes, and thanked me for pushing him. My heart stopped for a beat as I reflected internally on the morning of his interview, as it is one of those parenting moments I will always remember. As much as he had been wanting to find a job so he could start earning and saving his own money, he had been extremely nervous about the interview process. On the morning of his first real in-person interview, he told me he wanted to cancel. As with most moments in parenting teens, I had a decision to make: do I push or do I back off? I decided to push. I encouraged him to go to the interview, reminding him that it was completely normal to feel nervous. I told him if he didn’t get the job, it wouldn’t be a big deal as he had lots of other job applications in process. When he rolled his eyes and told me he wasn’t even interested in the job, I doubled down on my decision and told him that it would make the interview an even more important experience for him - he could practice interviewing, managing his anxious feelings, and would not be crushed if he did not get the job. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to cancel the interview and threw every potential reason at me. Although the discussion eventually escalated to an argument, ultimately, he went to the interview, grumbling at me as he huffed angrily out the door and into the car, leaving me to wonder “Did I just push him too hard? Did I just scar him for life? Should I have backed off?” Just 45 minutes later, while on his way home with my husband, he called me and I could instantly hear the smile in his voice. He had been offered the job on the spot and was excited about the schedule, the pay, his supervisor, and the job duties. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had made the right decision to push. It all worked out. Even though he didn’t thank me in that moment, the happiness in his voice was enough for me. It all had worked out. But, that’s not always how it goes with parenting teenagers. These parenting years are filled with countless moments of having to decide whether to push your teen or back off. Sometimes you push them to make a certain decision and run the risk of pushing them too hard. Other times you back off to let them make their own decisions and wonder what would have happened if only you had stepped in. Either choice leaves you feeling confused, scared, and guilty as a parent. The process of asking yourself “what if?” is endless during this stage of parenting and the guilt is an almost constant companion. The truth is that the process of parenting teens is one in which you get to witness a whole lot of mistakes - both from them and from you. Over and over again. But, if you look closely at each moment, even those moments that wind up being mistakes, you will find they are learning opportunities for parents and teens alike. The mistake moments are where growth happens. The victory moments, like when your teen finally tells you “thank you for pushing me,” are where humility and humbleness happen. Both kinds of moments are important.  New normal.
For some reason, I hate that term. Maybe it’s because I don’t like labeling something as normal vs. abnormal. It feels too judgmental. Maybe it’s because I don’t like change. Change is always hard and uncomfortable. But, this is my life now - the new normal. Whether I like it or not. After over a year of remote and hybrid learning where my children have been at home at least 3 school days each week, my children have returned to full time in person schooling. After over a year of working primarily from home, my husband has returned to being in the office for most of his shifts. The other day was our first day where I was the only one home. After over a year of me working fully remote from home, I'm still here - seeing all my patients via telehealth and teaching all my classes over Zoom. But, after 13 months of family togetherness, I was alone. The house was silent. No teacher’s voices could be heard on the computer through the doors of my children’s rooms. The house was silent. No cheesy manager jokes from my husband could be heard as he led a zoom meeting from our dining room table. The house was silent. No dog footsteps could be heard tip tapping on the hardwood floors as they wandered the house looking for anyone who was free and could give them some attention. They were snuggled all cozy in their crates, probably enjoying the quiet opportunities to nap. The house was silent. No dirty dishes were found in the sink as remnants of quick snack breaks between my kids’ classes or between my husband’s meetings. The house was silent. No one was there to pass me in the hallway. The house was silent. No one needed my help with getting into a Google Classroom meet. The house was silent. No one was there at my kitchen island eating their lunch while I poured myself another cup of tea. The house was silent. Silence recharges me. Silence refuels me. Silence calms me. But this silence was different. The house was silent and I realized just how lucky my family had been for the past year. We stayed healthy and we enjoyed the forced togetherness. The house was silent and I felt a deep gratitude for the memories we had made as a family over the past year. We adapted and grew and were able to be a part of each other’s lives in ways that never would have been possible without a pandemic. The house was silent. And I missed the loudness.  To the mama who didn’t get to have a normal childhood,
I see you. I see your daily pain as you move through the journey of parenthood, realizing over and over again just how much you were mistreated and abused by your own caregivers. Your heart breaks almost daily for all the things you missed or had taken away from you during what was supposed to be your childhood. YOU NEED TO HEAR THIS: You didn’t deserve any of the abuse, neglect, and mistreatment that happened to you. None of it. It was the job of your caregivers to keep you safe, make you feel loved, and allow you to be a child. They failed you. You didn’t fail. None of it was your fault. You need to believe this - in your core. And now look at you - making the decision every day that the cycle of abuse will stop with you. Every day you make the active choice to give your children and yourself a better life. Each time you tell your children that you love them so they don’t go to sleep at night wondering what they have to do to earn your love - you continue to break the cycle. Each time your child feels safe coming to you for advice after they have made a mistake instead of cowering in fear - you continue to break the cycle. Each time you spend time with your children at their sporting events, extracurricular activities, or just snuggling on the sofa, reminding them that you not only love them but you LIKE them too - you continue to break the cycle. Each time you apologize and take ownership for your mistakes as a parent and clarify that your child is not responsible for your emotional well-being - you continue to break the cycle. Each time you set a boundary and protect your child from people that do not respect them or cannot be trusted - you continue to break the cycle. Each time you seek support for yourself so that you can be a better version of yourself - you continue to break the cycle. I see your efforts and I know that the work you are doing is hard. You are tired. You doubt yourself. You fight daily to prevent those negative thoughts and messages from your own childhood from coming to the surface. Keep going. Keep moving forward, building the life your children so deserve - the life you never got to have as a child. But be sure to also take time to think about all the ways your children will never have to experience what you experienced. Take time to be proud of the parent that you have chosen to be. Your children are lucky to have you as their mama. Remember that. Love yourself just as fiercely as you love your children. You deserve it. You are worthy of love and compassion - especially from yourself. |
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