Well, holy shit. I know I haven't posted in awhile. I feel like everything I have wanted to post would be too painful for my kids to read later. The posts would be real, raw, loving, and honest. The posts would be ME. Because right now I am in pain. This part of my life is hard and painful. And the whole purpose of this blog is to gift it to the kids later so they can read the stories and see the pictures of our family life so I am careful about what I write. I never want to cause them pain.
Recently I have been feeling so guilty. Like I have failed as a parent. Parents are supposed to shield their kids from pain (or at least they want to). In the last few weeks I have been receiving more and more signs about this. One insightful woman (a medium to be exact) told me that I hold this shield out in front of my kids that is huge- that I need to shrink it down to the size of a donut and let them experience life.
With our transition in life and Haley's transition into middle school, and what I KNOW to be potentially the tough years of adolescence, let's just say I haven't been doing well.
I worry. Plain and simple. I never did before and now I do. I lost my innocence at 38 years old and my kids lost some innocence at 7 and 10. That loss for me has been replaced with fear and worry. And that is JUST NOT ME. I act as though they are so fragile even when every single day they show me how strong and resilient and perseverant they are.
I keep hearing words and receiving messages, and then I just read this from Glennon Melton Doyle (surely a close friend if we were ever to meet). I read this and feel ready to surrender to this. Not the kind of surrender that's down on my knees with my head down, but the kind of surrender that has me standing tall, looking to the sky, sun on my face, arms held open and high (as I learned at my Oprah weekend 2 years ago).
Haley and Ryan,
I believe in you. I believe in your strength and growth and your story- your journey of life. I am beside you and behind you, but I realize that I cannot always stand in front of you (even though it's against every grain of my being not to) with my satellite dish sized shield out to protect you from all harm. So today I promise to step back, as much as I can right now without imploding, and let you gain who you are supposed to be from the life experiences you are supposed to have. You are incredible humans, amazing souls, strong warriors. I pray that I am showing you the right way every step of the way.
I think the warrior is one who has the right job description for parenting.
The warrior parent knows that it is not her job, nor her right, to protect her child from pain. Her job is to direct her child toward her own warrior path—to point to the pain and say, "Do not be afraid. You are hardwired to not only survive that pain but to find your wholeness and purpose there. Let’s go, baby. We can do hard things." And then to walk her through her pain again and again—head held high, mind and heart and eyes wide open—so that when she’s gone, her baby can walk her path without her.
The warrior parent allows her child to be a warrior.
- Glennon Doyle Melton
