Getting Out Of The Way
My middle daughter, Morgan, is in Germany right now, living her dreams being an actor. Her part is in German. She doesn't speak German. Before she left she was working at it lots to get the part down but was struggling. She's doing the project with a young man she sees as her soul mate. They were having issues before she went over. She was worried about losing time at work, how she was going to be able to keep up with her bills, worried about the part, had stress all the way around. She kept calling me to talk it through and I, for the most part, would keep my mouth shut. But at one point, I felt I had to ask her why she was going.
Before she left, I was feeling protective. I was worried for her, made sure she had the calling card before she left because I was "sure" she was going to be continually calling me in pain like she's done for so many years. She still believes she needs my support to keep emotionally balanced.
This morning, while walking with my good friend, I was recalling my mother, dead now for seventeen years. I was telling my friend that I felt sad about never really getting to know her; that she died before I really got the chance to know her as her instead of her as "my mom."
It wasn't until her death that I started to ask questions about her which my age finally gave me perspective on--like looking at the subjects she chose when she did her art. The bulk of her paintings are either family or sacred art. I remember back to the things she exposed me to, political issues, cultural perspectives, sociology, history, art. At a very early age, she exposed me to other ways of thinking that were unusual for the times. She was an interesting woman, with interesting ideas who grew up and came into adulthood at a time when women weren't supported for their uniqueness as much as they are today.
From my perspective, how I read her life, is that she had all this aliveness going on but didn't have the strength to fight the times to express it fully. She had an art scholarship to study in Brussels then got pregnant with me so didn't go. Just when she got life in order for herself, got a job which would have totally suited her designing window displays at Marshall Fields in Chicago. She got pregnant with my brother. This kind of took care of her dreams of being an artist.
My ideas about my Mom are that she kept herself small to maintain what she thought was the "right" thing for a woman and mother to do. She sublimated who she was. In the meantime, she ran a very clean and organized house, loved us dearly. She was always cautious. I was overly protected, always told to watch myself in life, to look both ways, to think ahead, to be safe.
I look at Morgan. I look at my Mom. I look at myself being a Mom to Morgan. I see the remnants and unconscious ways in which I carry my Mother inside me. I see the pieces and parts of wanting my girl to be happy so wanting to protect her. I tell her to think ahead, to plan, to consider, to try to mitigate the negative possibilities that could occur--just like my Mom did for me, just like she lived her life.
For awhile now, even though Morgan asks for my perspectives, I've been telling her I don't want to give them to her. She pushes me, asking for my views because she tells me she sees me as wise. Sometimes I respond, sometimes I remain quiet.
She's flying over there. Every obstacle she encountered is flowing away like magic. She's been invited back to act and pursue other projects, even though she doesn't speak the language. The relationship is flowing and she's making other contacts. And when I think of how I was so concerned for her about going I'm happy I kept most of my fears to myself.
This guiding your children thing is not an easy one to navigate. There's a wiggly line between wanting to "educate" or give another perspective and teaching them to not trust their Inner Voice. When my kids reached their teens I adopted a pretty hands off sort of parenting style, but I am now seeing the subtlities of "suggestions" and "wanting to guide" as being an insidious element in their lives that if not watched and incrementally toned down as they age. If not, all that loving intention might get in the way of some pretty exciting living. Life is about taking chances. As parents we want our kids to be happy in their choices. I understand why my Mom kept trying to control my life in all the myriad, loving ways she did. It's not easy to stand and watch our kids when things "seem" like the cards are stacked against them. But I think it's vital.
Before she left, I was feeling protective. I was worried for her, made sure she had the calling card before she left because I was "sure" she was going to be continually calling me in pain like she's done for so many years. She still believes she needs my support to keep emotionally balanced.
This morning, while walking with my good friend, I was recalling my mother, dead now for seventeen years. I was telling my friend that I felt sad about never really getting to know her; that she died before I really got the chance to know her as her instead of her as "my mom."
It wasn't until her death that I started to ask questions about her which my age finally gave me perspective on--like looking at the subjects she chose when she did her art. The bulk of her paintings are either family or sacred art. I remember back to the things she exposed me to, political issues, cultural perspectives, sociology, history, art. At a very early age, she exposed me to other ways of thinking that were unusual for the times. She was an interesting woman, with interesting ideas who grew up and came into adulthood at a time when women weren't supported for their uniqueness as much as they are today.
From my perspective, how I read her life, is that she had all this aliveness going on but didn't have the strength to fight the times to express it fully. She had an art scholarship to study in Brussels then got pregnant with me so didn't go. Just when she got life in order for herself, got a job which would have totally suited her designing window displays at Marshall Fields in Chicago. She got pregnant with my brother. This kind of took care of her dreams of being an artist.
My ideas about my Mom are that she kept herself small to maintain what she thought was the "right" thing for a woman and mother to do. She sublimated who she was. In the meantime, she ran a very clean and organized house, loved us dearly. She was always cautious. I was overly protected, always told to watch myself in life, to look both ways, to think ahead, to be safe.
I look at Morgan. I look at my Mom. I look at myself being a Mom to Morgan. I see the remnants and unconscious ways in which I carry my Mother inside me. I see the pieces and parts of wanting my girl to be happy so wanting to protect her. I tell her to think ahead, to plan, to consider, to try to mitigate the negative possibilities that could occur--just like my Mom did for me, just like she lived her life.
For awhile now, even though Morgan asks for my perspectives, I've been telling her I don't want to give them to her. She pushes me, asking for my views because she tells me she sees me as wise. Sometimes I respond, sometimes I remain quiet.
She's flying over there. Every obstacle she encountered is flowing away like magic. She's been invited back to act and pursue other projects, even though she doesn't speak the language. The relationship is flowing and she's making other contacts. And when I think of how I was so concerned for her about going I'm happy I kept most of my fears to myself.
This guiding your children thing is not an easy one to navigate. There's a wiggly line between wanting to "educate" or give another perspective and teaching them to not trust their Inner Voice. When my kids reached their teens I adopted a pretty hands off sort of parenting style, but I am now seeing the subtlities of "suggestions" and "wanting to guide" as being an insidious element in their lives that if not watched and incrementally toned down as they age. If not, all that loving intention might get in the way of some pretty exciting living. Life is about taking chances. As parents we want our kids to be happy in their choices. I understand why my Mom kept trying to control my life in all the myriad, loving ways she did. It's not easy to stand and watch our kids when things "seem" like the cards are stacked against them. But I think it's vital.
The photo is of the South Pillar region of Carina Nebula. I copied it from our government space place, NASA. It's a place where stars are born. It's about creation.
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