“Enjoy it now. Time flies. They grow up so fast.”
I know this. We all know this. We say it all the time to parents — especially mothers.
However, until you’re a mother — like myself — who now realizes that her child is now morphing into a human being who no longer wants to be by my side every moment, or even at all — it’s almost impossible to truly know, understand, and feel this phenomenon full throttle.
These feelings don’t often resonate until the transition from child to young adult has happened. Each child begins puberty at varying times. My child entered puberty very early, and before I knew it, she was 11 going on 15. She wants to spend time alone in her room more. She doesn’t want to cuddle up on the couch with me and watch a silly reality show like she used to. She rolls her eyes at me instead of smiling.
Those small, warm hands that used to curl into mine as instinctively as a pea in a pod are now almost bigger than mine and certainly not down for hand-holding anymore.
Whereas 6 months ago I was frustrated with my daughter for not brushing her hair, now she does it automatically every day. And now I miss it, those fights over brushing her hair and me having to grudgingly do it for her. What I wouldn’t give for one more grudging hair session.
When our children are younger, we often get exasperated over all the things they can’t do for themselves, yet now I wish I had been able to savor those moments more.
And there’s the punch-in-the-stomach part.
It’s almost impossible to soak up that feeling of knowing you’re going to miss particular moments of your child’s time alive when you’re in the trenches of parenting. There might be quick seconds of realizing how much you’re going to cherish certain activities with your child later in life, but then it’s back to the often grueling business of raising them. Time does not slow down as a parent.
Perhaps it’s just the natural condition of parenting to constantly feel as if you are in survival mode.
Once you get into survival mode as a mother, in particular, it’s difficult and often uncomfortable to get out of it. This is because, in general, mothers are usually on the lookout for the next crisis or catastrophe. It’s instinctual.
This is why when a mother is told to, “Chill out,” “take a break,” or, “just rest,” it can feel like the last thing she feels able to do mentally, emotionally, or physically.
The grief felt by parents who are experiencing their children transitioning into humans who don’t want approval, reassurance, protection, or cuddles is significant and not talked about enough. Notice I don’t say “need” because of course they still need all those things from us, they just don’t want to seek them out anymore because they want to feel independent.
Fair enough, and this is the natural way of adolescence — but that doesn’t make getting off this train of raising small humans any easier. The next train is much more daunting. It’s also really lonely.
The empty loneliness of your child separating from you is palpable. It’s almost as if you’re being broken up with and you’ve got to grieve the relationship you once knew.
You go from wondering if the days of changing diapers, potty training, time-outs, clingy hugs, red-faced temper tantrums, playdates, and park time will ever end to missing your daughter automatically grabbing your hand when you cross the street together.
The feeling parents who are empty-nesters must feel resonates with me during this time of adolescent transition. Happy to be out of the trenches, yet lost without their offspring needing something.
Knowing you have to let your child go into the jungle of adolescence and young adulthood without you clearing the way for them is terrifying in a way that makes that word seem trite.
When you invest so much time, energy, blood, sweat, and tears into the job of raising small children into adulthood — then finally make it out to the other side — what do you do? How do you soothe the grief? How do you recover from years upon years of riding on that often traumatic rollercoaster that is raising kids?
For myself, I’m realizing that as much as this is a strange and often lonely transition between my daughter and me, the best course of action is to make sure I have a life on my own, interests of my own, and an acceptance that this phase happens to all parents. It’s not pleasant. You’ll sit on your phone and see all the photos and memories wondering why you didn’t appreciate that time more than you did.
The simple answer to that question is because you couldn’t. You simply didn’t have time. You were entrenched in the job of keeping one child or more alive, safe, and well-adjusted into this world.
And so, to any mother, father, or guardian reading this now — just know that you’re not alone in this strange and prickly realm of grief. You’re not the only one tearing up at old pictures from when they wanted you, needed you, and ran to you.
Be satisfied that you created such bad-ass memories with your child or children, even if you were just too damn frazzled as a parent to cherish them as they happened.
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