I currently have family friends visiting, from Colombia. (This is a photo one of their ungrateful Chihuahuas attacking me, after I spent the week struggling to get her papers sorted out to cross the Mexican border to the US. Kidding, was very cute.)
Anyway, last night at dinner they praised me for raising my younger daughter, who they described as "tan linda" (so lovely, nice), disciplined and a hard worker. While I politely thanked them, I hoped my face didn't betray my unease at being congratulated for how my youngest daughter met their criteria for being "successful". Later that night the discomfort really sunk in, when I realized that over the last four days, they had not once asked about my older daughter, the one living in New York City, struggling with her mental health and addiction. She even video called me once, and as I turned my phone to the visitors, and the beautiful young woman with short black bangs and multiple piercings said quietly, "Hola, cómo están?" They mumbled a quick reply completely lacking in the uniquely Colombian tenor of warmth when connecting with the children of close friends.
I realized that no matter how much they might respect me and my husband as individuals, they are sure that we did something terribly wrong as parents. And of course, I, as the mother, am mostly to blame. They see my older daughter as a great disappointment, and huge liability. They imagine themselves in my place, and see our experience as a nearly unbearable tragedy. I know that my visitors, like many people, often don't want to say something they feel will make me uncomfortable or sad, so instead they try to ignore my daughter's existence altogether. And I go along with the silence. But it's not because of shame or guilt.
I don't say anything because I wouldn't be able to convey the immensity of the impact she has had on my life. How her struggles have jarred me awake. How my heart's expansion to hold our collective pain has allowed me to love in a way I never imagined. How I don't see her as a failure, but instead have been blessed with another set of criteria in which to assess the meaningfulness of life. No, dear friends, our experience is not a tragedy. It is an excruciatingly difficult and exquisitely transformational journey. A gift I wouldn't bestow on anyone, but a gift nonetheless.
So today I find myself only sharing my daughter's struggles and triumphs (She got all her credits this semester!), with a few kindred souls. Those that either have common experiences, or the ability to see the world with deep curiosity and wonder, rather than fear and judgment. And that feels ok.
Here I'm expanding a bit on some of the points that clients I work with often struggle with.
What is the criteria for a successful life?
This is a big one. To different degrees, we are conditioned by our families and society to believe that our very value as human beings is equated with the degree to which we meet certain criteria. These benchmarks can vary but are often focused on external indicators of success, degrees, money, etc. rather than any authentic pursuit of individual, authentic meaning. While we often may understand this intellectually, our sense of our children's progress and even our own self-worth is informed by our subconscious where this early and insidious conditioning is hard to shift. Awareness is the first step in being able to see our kids, and ourselves, through a lens not tainted by this conditioning. We can ask ourselves, what about my emotional reaction (Sadness, anxiety/fear, etc) is related to our attachment to what a successful or "good" person "should" be being or doing? How can I instead choose to see things differently? Can I choose expansiveness and creativity over comparison and lack? Love over fear?
Working with shame and guilt
Another huge one.
As mothers we often feel our children's achievements and struggles as reflection of our own parenting ability, and even our value as women. I've spent years now making peace with the knowledge that I have always done the best I could with the tools I had at the moment. I now believe that growth comes much more so from struggle than from ease, and that the fruit of these difficult journeys may be what give our lives meaning and prepare us for something we could have never envisioned. Yet still, sometimes when the exhaustion of a difficult day leaves me with my guard down, I feel the weight of my missteps, and want to hide from the world. Vulnerability is so difficult, because somewhere deep down a part still believes that my worth and safety comes from having this shield of competence and control. Strength is allowing others to see our struggles, and embodying the knowledge that this does not make us less, it does not make our children less. Vulnerability is the ultimate manifestation of self-acceptance and compassion.
Some exciting news!
I'm launching a new podcast with a colleague in the UK! (Stay tuned!)
At the beginning of January I will be holding a one day, in-person retreat, on Conscious Parenting, in Merida, Mexico. If you are going to be around let me know!
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