We have them, in tightly balled fists. Carefully chosen, each has been kept for a good reason. Most felt deliciously smooth when acquired—just right. Now, they cut us like sharp bits of gravel. Yet, to toss them out is more than we can bear. Instead we withstand pain, expend energy, and often go through extreme gyrations to hold on to them. What are they?
Expectations.
The more life experiences we’ve chalked up before parenting, the harder it is to go into this wondrous process without loads of them. We’ve observed, been thoughtful, set and achieved goals. We are informed adults; not impulsive youngsters. We think we know what to expect, and how to handle it.
Life jolts us from our illusions. We find ourselves in the reality of sleepless nights, parenting a colicky baby, explosive child, moody adolescent, or alcoholic high school student. Sure, we knew things would be tough. But not like this. This is different.
I admit it: My children are not following my plan. Ouch! Not one. And it was so thoughtfully put together. I really thought I knew what I was doing. I can (and on many occasions have chosen to) wallow in frustration, disappointment and worry. Far better is when I stop judging, concede, and accept. In, like a breath of fresh air, comes the freedom of not being responsible for everything, not attempting to predict and control the future. Freedom to see the perfection of who they are, just as they are, without my meddling.
Here’s something to try: Throw the gravel away. Open your hands, raise your arms, and surrender. Then use those arms to give a big embrace to what you’ve got. Enjoy it. “If you surrender to the wind, you can ride it.” (Toni Morrison)
Every parent struggles, some more, some less than others. Bad, scary, annoying, exhausting, unfair things happen. Children born to, or adopted by us can be autistic, asthmatic, artistic, hyper, learning disabled, shy, clumsy, brilliant, over sensitive or athletic, all without our prior approval. People wait 6 years to adopt a child, and the one they get has attachment disorder. Educators end up with children who hate to read. Conservatives give birth to liberals. Religious parents have atheist children. Loving, involved parents have children who are addicts. It happens every day.
You can fight it with every last breath in your body, read every book on the subject, consult experts until you run out of money. Cajole, beg, bribe and manipulate. Go as far as you need to, so that you know you’ve done your best. But it won’t work. In the end, you have what’s there, nothing more, nothing less. Grieve your lost dreams, but don’t forget to move on, and enjoy what you have.
I am not advocating idleness or neglect. Of course, you must do what you can to make a difference, especially to nurture, heal and teach. I am talking about expecting to change his very nature, thinking you can make her into a different person, believing you are omnipotent and can fit a three dimensional, living person into a two dimensional fantasy you made up before you had all the facts. Blaming yourself for the difference.
Parenting is endless and beyond your scope of control–no matter who you are, how talented, patient or clever. It’s not a math problem or term paper that can be perfectly organized; or a cake recipe, that with the right ingredients, technique and oven temperature will yield consistent results.
Worry, shame, guilt, judgment, comparison, disappointment, what if’s and shoulds all trap us like thick mud, leaving us more miserable as we pile them on. “We cannot change anything until we accept it. Condemnation does not liberate, it oppresses.” (Carl Jung)
People suffer immensely trying to change things they cannot. I recently met a mother whose son has a reading disorder. The woman was obviously tortured by this (and yes, I realize “tortured” is a strong word.) She has been robbed of joy and wonder. Her beautiful, healthy child is becoming his diagnosis, because that’s where his mother’s eyes are fixed.
We have the power to alter our behavior, and even the way we think. It takes time, repetition, and hard work. Look straight at your fears and ask yourself if you are truly that accurate at predicting the future. (If you’re that good, you should be dealing in futures on Wall Street.) Most of us aren’t.
When I learned to ski, my instructor told me to keep my eyes on the place where I wanted to end up. It works. The body follows the eyes. Staring at a tree while skiing is not a good idea…
What do you want to see in your child—the defects or the amazing bits? You have no choice but to look somewhere, so you may want to be thoughtful about where that is, and not allow yourself to be directed by the opinions of others or your own anxieties. You will end up where you fix your vision.
Practice being the way you want to be. This is no different from learning to play tennis. In the beginning you will be rough and clumsy. Ultimately, it will come without effort. If you want to stop bemoaning the bad deal you got from the universe, or you feel too isolated by the addition of your new child, create a new way of looking at the situation. Where is the opportunity? What do you have now that you didn’t before? When negative thoughts come into your mind, do not invite them to stay for tea and cookies.
If you want to stop judging and start accepting, find a way to do that. There is no right way, but many find that meditation, quiet walking or prayer help. Keeping a gratitude list can be very powerful, as can having a picture or phrase on display that reminds you of your goal. This is practice, not an end goal. When you find yourself off track, smile to yourself, turn around, and begin again in the right direction.
Yesterday, I was at a talk given by a young woman who was adopted as an infant from China. Someone asked her what it was like to live without information about your biological family. She replied, far more eloquently than I can relate, that she thought it had made her a better person. When she visited China, she looked at people in a gentler way because, to her, any of them could be a family member—the man selling food in the street, a woman reading a newspaper, a farmer working in a field. There was no way to know. Although this young woman continues to look for her birth family, she said she almost hopes she never finds them, because she is afraid she will lose this gift.
Here was someone who had every right to be angry and bitter over the loss that defines the beginning of her life. Her history will remain the same no matter what choices she makes. Her life, however, is far richer for the glasses she has chosen to look through.