Last week, my friend and I met at the park to walk and vent. In the past several years, we’ve found that this kind of mental and emotional exercise helps us navigate the treacherous waters of raising young adults. Because, while shepherding 18+ year olds is physically easier than mothering young children, it’s mentally much harder.
As we sat on a park bench consoling each other, a woman walking by caught our attention. She pushed a stroller holding a toddler, had a small baby strapped to her chest, and held the leash of a mid-sized dog. I applauded her and called, “Good job, mama!” Because I’ve been in that physically demanding phase of motherhood. That phase when you think your brain is turning to mush because meal prep and laundry consume your existence. When you hardly have the time or energy to finish a thought much less entertain ideas about things like community, politics, or social justice. You’d just like a nap. And nothing attached to you.
My friend and I, the parents of seven children combined, remember the stroller days well. We reassured this mama walking by us that even though getting out of the house was exhausting, the change of scenery would ultimately do everyone good. At least for an hour.
I’m past the phase of mothering small people. We long ago donated the booster seats and tossed the sippee cups. But in the process of escorting four babies through childhood into adolescence, I fell many times. I burned a child. I lost a child. I scared my children. I yelled at my children. Accidentally and without premeditation in all cases, but still. Not stellar moves. Motherhood has humbled me time and again with some ugly character revealing moments. Have I always been a patient person? No. Am I more patient now? Definitely. But there is still work to do. And I know I’m not alone.
Now I’m parenting “so close but not quite” adults, and the struggle continues in new and unexpected ways. I have enough time these days to complete thoughts. Actually, not only do I complete thoughts, I spin them over and over, round and round in my head, because the mental work of raising older children can bring you to your knees. For years, I’ve had big control over major aspects of their lives: nutrition, sleep schedule, friends. Now, I’ve got none. I’m on the sideline, only coaching when invited to do so. For someone who tends toward control, this is hard. So often, I feel helpless. And at a loss.
In the past six years of parenting teens and young adults, I have said and done and allowed things I never thought I would. And every mother of teenagers and young adults I’ve confided in has experienced the same thing. In the cohort of moms I talk with, we’ve dealt with anxiety, eating disorders, physical injuries, chronic illness, cancer, depression, sexuality, gender identity, sexual assault, and social media. Besides all of this, we’ve had to tackle the age old, yet still elusive, task of teaching kids how to accept failure and hold tight to faith in a rapidly changing world.
It exhausts me. And I have, and have always had, a supportive husband, financial stability, and a work life balance I choose. How many mothers do?
As we approach Mother’s Day, I would like to applaud mothers in all phases. And to reassure you that we all struggle and fall short. Even the ones who look like they have it together sometimes believe they are drowning. Mothering is one of the most rewarding jobs I’ve ever held. It’s also the most humbling. Give yourself grace, celebrate small victories, and embrace in your core that there is no one right way to mother. We are all stumbling along, doing our best. We need to surround ourselves with other mothers of all ages who readily say, “I see what you’re doing, and I support you.”
Happy Mother’s Day moms. Now, go get that nap.
Thanks for getting nerdy with me!
