Parenting is hard.
Lately I feel like I’ve been inundated on social media with pictures of all these gorgeous, skinny moms with long flowy hair holding their picture perfect babies. It’s all just so darn beautiful and I found myself looking at the pictures longingly, and with sadness. Finally, I had to get real. I had to be honest and ask myself why I was feeling so forlorn by all these beautiful mom, beautiful baby pictures. HARD TRUTH: Because I’m a preteen mom now and being a preteen mom is hard in an entirely different way than those baby years. The problems we are facing as preteen and teen moms are acne and body odor and rejection and breakups and exclusion and body image and real life, hard lessons; and let’s get real — those aren’t so beautiful to look at or to face. Even more importantly, the issues that we face as preteen and teen parents make us face a hard and sobering reality: Our kids are going to get hurt and that is — at times — completely and utterly out of our control.
I’ve heard it said that we should know anything starting with 9 months of pregnancy, followed by the pain of childbirth, is going to be extremely difficult. But if I’m being honest, I would go through the pain of childbirth one hundred times over rather than having to experience the pain that you endure when your children start to grow up — hitting those preteen and teen years — and you watch them get hurt and face pain. The pains of childbirth pale in comparison to the pain I have felt when I look into my child’s eyes and I see their pain, and I can’t fix it for them. That, I’m realizing, is one of the hardest parts of parenting — letting them hurt, so that they can grow.
When our children are babies, it’s our job to protect them. We are given this intense parental instinct to protect our children against all odds. We put up baby gates so they can’t climb up the stairs; we lock the doors so they are confined to the safety of our homes; we take them to doctor’s appointments when they get sick; we put child safety locks on the doors so they can’t get into anything that will harm them. We PROTECT. Because that’s what parents do. But what about when they aren’t babies anymore? What about when they grow up and you have to send them off to school and out into the real world? Then, this crazy thing happens. You realize that everything you’ve fought so hard to do — to protect them — is now completely out of your control. That little baby that you have fought so hard to keep safe, is now at the mercy of the world and there is nothing you can do to prevent them, at times, from experiencing the pain of real life. That sobering realization and the acceptance of your complete lack of control; it’s so hard.
The past few weeks have been tough for that amazing young man you see in the picture above. This kid. He’s everything. He’s my oldest and I’m way too hard on him. Sometimes I’m scared that I’m getting it all wrong and I feel bad for him that he has to be our little guinea pig, so to speak, because we are young parents and are figuring some of this out as we go; unfortunately, that means we are going to make mistakes with him. But goodness gracious — his character — he just blows me away. I kid you not when I say in his 11 1/2 years, I have never heard him utter one unkind word about someone. He always puts others first. He cares. He has a heart of gold. He’s artistic. He loves to read. He is FUNNY. The older he gets the more I’m seeing his little personality come out and man, this kid is just cool. He’s laid back and musical and smart and witty and humble and he cares about other people more than he cares about himself. I am just so unbelievably honored to be this boy’s mother.
Over the past few weeks this sweet, tender hearted boy has had to experience real life on a level he’s never had to experience it before. He’s experienced loss; he’s experienced pain; he’s experienced rejection; and you know what, there was absolutely nothing I could do, as a mother, to stop the pain from happening. All I could do was hold him, hug him, love him, and tell him that I was there for him.
My momma’s heart is hurting as I write this you guys. It’s hurting because my son is hurting and I can’t fix it for him. It’s hurting because I can’t take the pain away. But more than anything, it’s hurting because of one word: REALITY.
Reality: I can’t stop my son from experiencing the pain of life. What he’s had to experience in the last few weeks, it will be the first of many times he experiences pain. It will be the first of many times he experiences loss. It will be the first of many times he experiences rejection. The thing is, he’s not a baby anymore and I can’t put a baby gate up to protect him from life. I can’t put child safety locks on that will keep out hurtful people or situations or experiences. Reality: he has to stand and face it and all I can do is love him through it and pray that he will use the things that hurt him; that he will allow the pain to shape him and redirect him; and above all else, that he will learn from his mistakes and GROW. All I can do, is hold his hand when he experiences the hurt, hug him and love him when he needs to cry, and as much as I hate it with everything inside of me, I have to LET HIM HURT.
There is always pain associated with growth. We all remember being children and feeling those literal, physical pains from the growth that our body was experiencing. Just like there is pain with physical growth, there is also pain with emotional growth. My son is experiencing that right now and as much as I hate it, I can’t stop him from experiencing that pain; but I can make him feel unconditionally loved and I can tell him that there is hope. I can tell him there is hope because I know what he doesn’t. I have lived through pain. I have lived through hurt, and I know that if we will let it, our pain can be our greatest gift. Our pain can redirect us. Our pain can lead us where we never would have had the strength to go on our own. Our pain can force us to learn from our mistakes and hopefully, to not keep repeating them by being willing to make necessary changes; our pain can create beauty from ashes; our pain can force us to grow.
A few days ago I held my kid’s hand and I told him how my greatest pain turned into my greatest blessing. We had to deliver some hard news to him and we had to watch him hurt. Then, I told him something that I never saw myself telling one of my kids. I told him about how the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced and the greatest pain I’ve ever felt, eventually led me to his dad and meeting the love of my life. I looked into my eleven year old son’s eyes and I told him that when I was his age, my mother was almost murdered. I told him that an evil man hid in the back of her van with a butcher knife and stabbed her repeatedly, then left her in a ditch to die. I told him that it hurt. I told him I was scared and angry and confused and ultimately, that traumatic event led me to be a very confused and rebellious 14 year old girl. It’s a long story that maybe I will tell some day on this blog but not today. Today, all that I’m sharing is this: my greatest pain — my mother’s unsolved attempted murder — was ultimately what led me to my husband and to the life that I’m living right now. My pain shaped my life; it redirected my path; my pain led me to where I was supposed to be.
A few days ago, I shared my pain with my son so that he knew he wasn’t alone. I shared so he knew we all face pain. But more than anything, I shared so he knew that there was hope. I shared so he knew that if he allows it to, his pain can shape him and mold him and redirect him, and most importantly, his pain can force him to GROW.
Parenting is hard. Preteen parenting is hard. Why am I writing this? Because I guess sometimes it can feel hard and lonely and isolating and I’m just saying to all those other parents out there struggling and hurting at times and just trying to survive and love their kids through the hard, not so pretty moments: YOU’RE NOT ALONE. Hang in there. And your kid is blessed to have you supporting them through their pain and teaching them how to grow.
