Let it go

I am a hover-er. Some have called me over-protective. I don't know if there's such a thing as over protective, but either way, I am often the one parent on the playground or play place who is standing annoyingly close to her child, arms out like I am spotting a gymnast or cheerleader during a risky stunt - only it's my child and she's stepping over a 6" tall foam stethoscope. (Yes...a foam stethoscope...one of the "obstacles" to climb on at our mall's play place. And no, the rest of the place isn't doctor-themed. Am I the only one who thinks this is a little strange?)

I distinctly remember one instance from my youth. I was probably 14 or 15, which meant my younger brother Eli must have been about 7 or 8. My family was up visiting a "secret spot" of ours up at Mt. Baker. It is a beautiful rocky area, with a river running through it. Over this river (I am now thinking that it is probably just a large stream, but it was a river in my youthful perspective), are many nature-made bridges of sticks and logs, varying in width and sturdiness. Eli, being the adventurous and daring little guy that he was, decided to make his way across one of these, consciously or subconsciously choosing one of very little width, covered with a thick slimy blanket of moss.

At this point in the story, you may think that something tragic or even just a little bit scary happened that day, but it did not. I remember it so vividly because I nervously watched every little shuffle he took over that stick to get to the other side. He was careless and free. I was terrified. Equally mortifying to me were my parents, who sat back and let this accident waiting to happen take place. Smiling, even. I thought they were crazy. I questioned my dad - accusing him of willingly allowing Eli into a situation that could result in a broken leg or worse. My dad's words: "Relax, he is just fine." And he was.

I don't know why these situations are so hard for me. I have never been seriously injured - never even broken a major bone. I am thinking that it is just a lesson that I need to learn. With most situations in my life, the advice that Jason or other loved ones almost always offer me is: "Relax. Let it go." Does this tell you a little something about my personality?

I am slowly learning to back off just a little bit and let my children figure things out on their own. I am working on this because it is something that I want to do and feel is necessary. My children know they are loved and adored. They are well cared-for. I don't want to hinder their growth in any aspect because I am standing in front of them, intervening constantly. I want them to be confident little girls and eventually young women that know and trust themselves to make good decisions.

Just yesterday, I did something surprisingly difficult for me - I sent Reagan to a friend's for the first time in her almost three-year-old life, without me. It was uncomfortable. I spend so much time with Reagan and Ember, just us, that it felt as though I was leaving a really important body part behind when I dropped her off and drove slowly away, eyes fixed at her curly little head in the rear view mirror, praying that she would be fine and feeling the hot sting of tears well up in my eyelids, blurring my vision. She - of course - was more than okay. She is an extremely well-rounded and well-adjusted little girl, and I need to give her credit for that. Me? Well, I could probably learn a thing or two from her about that. I absolutely knew that she would be just fine, but I also knew that this meant she was growing up - something that maybe I subconsciously have been trying to avoid this whole time.

There is a balance - a happy medium in "letting go" that I have not yet found or grown comfortable with. In physical matters - on the playground, for example, I feel as though I can let up a bit. They are still my babies, but they are not babies - or at least they are becoming slowly less so. A scraped knee here and there is not going to hurt them in the long run.

What about in other matters? What are the repercussions of being a hover-er in emotional and spiritual matters? Again, I believe there is a happy medium. Although I will never give up on protecting my children from harm (and shouldn't), I have a feeling that I am going to need to remind myself often that making decisions for them will not benefit them. There is a growing process that needs to take place. I know that often I, when faced with difficult decisions, want someone (my husband, my parents, those I trust) to make them for me. But it is not until I make a decision on my own and feel confident in it, that I grow and progress. This is a lesson I am slowly learning.

Perhaps I am afraid of not being needed anymore. That is probably legitimately accurate. It is not easy for me to watch my children grow up and learn how to do things on their own. The day I stopped nursing Reagan was a very emotional time for me. I had stopped providing nourishment long before, but I was holding on to a relationship that had yet been tainted by the outside world. In those tender moments, I was her whole world, and I reveled in that. Weaning meant allowing others into her "circle of trust." I am having an equally difficult time with Ember.

Perhaps I am also fearful of not being in control. I like planning and being in control of every situation to avoid possible literal and figurative bumps and bruises, but I realize that I cannot live my life that way. In a recent episode of "Super Nanny" (shameless plug for an excellent show), Nanny Jo has a mother hold a dozen eggs in her hands and tells her to drop them onto their recently-mopped tile floor. She was struggling with some of the same issues of "letting go" that I am, and it was an exercise that, although seemingly simple, was excruciatingly difficult and painful for her to do. Not just because of the mess it would make, but because it meant her allowing mistakes to be made, pain to be had, and "messes" to be made.

Even more eye-opening than the mother eventually dropping the eggs (can you imagine doing that? Jason just laughed when I told him that I really do not think I could do that), was her daughter's reaction to it. As it was about the happen, the daughter screamed, plugged her ears, and with tears in her eyes exclaimed, "Don't do it!" She had been so accustomed to everything working out - no mishaps happening - that it was traumatic for her to think about her mom following through with a silly exercise like dropping eggs. I identified with this situation more than I would have liked to.

I have a sincere desire to teach my children that messes can be cleaned up, bruises can be healed, and broken hearts can be mended. I, of course, will protect them, but when accidents happen, there is growth in healing. I think it's so beautiful that I am able to learn these lessons alongside them. Because I have not mastered it yet does not mean I am not qualified to teach it to my children. I am grateful for that and I am learning to "let it go."