This Is Not My Story

When our oldest was on our only child, I really struggled with accepting help. We had this little baby that I loved so overwhelmingly, and brought me so much joy to see every single new thing he learned and experienced. I was his mom, so I felt like I should and wanted(!) be there for all.the.things.

I distinctly remember my parents asking if they could take our then 18 month old son to a local amusement park one summer afternoon. They suggested that I could stay home and rest or do whatever tasks were weighing on my mind. It took several days for me to decide, but not because I didn’t trust my parents or wasn’t exhausted. It was because I didn’t want to miss out on all his smiles and new experiences. I didn’t want to miss a single moment of something new for him. (I did end up taking them up on their offer and then laid around all day waiting for them to send my texts and photos).

It was hard, but I had time to grow up a little in my parenting. Maybe its because I’ve prayed and reflected so much on my own motherhood or because with six kids, you just need to lower your expectations significantly, but my thoughts and heartbreak of the fear-of-not-being-there-for-every-smile (basically MomFomo) has transformed.

I have come to see the incredible learning and relationships that my kids have from spending time with other people without me. Memories and moments that they have spent on their own with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends’ families has stretched and expanded their memories and personalities. Their lives and experiences are fuller, stronger, and richer because they have learned and laughed and made their own decisions without us.

I’ve also come to realize that it strengthens my kids to be able to know they don’t only have my husband and I in their corner in life. We would lay down our lives for them, but not every scenario requires someone ready to go to battle for your honor. Sometimes you need people that can see the whole picture, sometimes you need someone who has lived that same experience, sometimes you need someone who knows someone who knows someone.

As much as my husband and I want to be the ones who can fix everything and give advice on all things – we are so deeply invested in raising decent humans and so rooted in unconditional love that our perspective is at a hard focus on the horizon. Our kids need people who can switch the focus of the lens or turn to a different angle sometimes.

I have written about it before, but one of my favorite sentiments on parenthood comes from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran,

“It is that our job as parents is to send our children forth like arrows into the world where we will not be permitted to follow. We are the stable bows that remain behind in the Archer’s arms. Our aim is to send them swift and far”

Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

Parenting is so all-consuming on our end that this is the truth we don’t want to admit.

What we avoid coming to terms with because we are so overwhelmed in love and worry and the physical and emotional caring of human beings that depend on us.

Their story is NOT my story.

I am not the main character of their story, I am just supporting cast. I think this is so hard to come to terms with because their character is such a huge part of MY story. Before them, I was so fiercely and obviously the main character of my own story. But as soon as my children’s chapters were written into my book, my main character storyline became inescapably paired to their story.

In my book, they will always be a key character.

But it does not (and should not) work the same for our children. In their beginning chapters, I am a very important character; the one that holds their whole world together. But with each chapter, my character takes a small step away from center stage.

The choices our children make as they grow help determine the path of their story. The friendships and relationships they nurture are all part of their story. Their successes, losses, challenges, heartaches, lessons, and joys all belong to their story. The relationship they have with their siblings, the risks they take, the books they read, the things that make them laugh – that is all THEIR story. And as time continues to move on and they continue to grow up – a lot of it won’t even include me at all.

The only important thing I can do is make sure I allow them to write their own story, I can provide guidance, support, and unconditional love, but ultimately their story must belong to them. I have to let them have friendships and inside jokes with their siblings. I have to cheer for them from the stands, but know that the passion for the game belongs to them. I have to watch them struggle sometimes so they can figure it out for themselves. I can be their biggest cheerleader, advocate, fangirl, and mentor, but recognize deep in my bones that ultimately their story will continue without me.

It is heartbreaking to me every single day as a mom to know my entire job description revolves around erasing their dependency from me line by line. It began with giving them every little piece of every little thing I had. I was swallowed whole in their need for me. But each day, my purpose as their mother is to take away a nail of that scaffolding, to show them the tool, they need and teach them to use it on their own.

If we do this correctly, if we slowly eliminate our job fully, we are gifted with awesome adults who choose to maintain relationships with us, who return with spouses and children and their own friends that will enrich and brighten our lives. But gosh, how hard it is to come to terms with the fact that the whole of parenthood is a slow goodbye after that first incredible, miraculous, hello.

Make no mistake, we are still the character that holds the whole world together and always will be.

But their story is not MY story.
However, what an incredible privilege;
truly, the honor of my life,
that most of MY story
is about them.

Related posts:

An open letter to my first born child How we, mothers, spend our days The random perks of being a mom to littles An open letter to my daughter about her body