When we can’t fix the hurt for our kids…

Once our children reach a certain age, raising them becomes much more about taking care of their emotional and mental needs and not so much the physical.  Once they can dress, shower & feed themselves and you are comfortable with them staying home alone, our job as parents largely becomes offering guidance and helping them discover their natural born talents (along with paying for everything & becoming a full-time chauffeur).  We guide them towards becoming compassionate, well-rounded, respectful adults the best ways we know how.  We offer advice to shape them into good people who know how to be good friends and good citizens. We have the impossible task of trying to protect them from emotional pain and disappointments.  If you ask me, doing this is so much more taxing than the earlier days of changing diapers and filling sippy cups.  Those duties as a parent are necessary, of course.  And draining and exhausting.  And noble.  But sometimes I long for those tasks because at that stage of their life I was able to shield them from disappointment and hurt and heartbreak.  One of the hardest things a parent can go through is to watch their child hurt and not be able to fix it.  Now my sleep deprivation and endless worries comes from knowing my child’s heart has been broken because of experiences that are inevitable. There is absolutely no way I can prevent the pain my children will experience in their lives.  I wish I could intercept the pain and take it myself; I’d give anything to experience the hurt instead of them.  But all of us learn from the bad, as well as the good.  Their characters are being built.  Through the ugly stuff they are learning to not let emotion rule them but to use these experiences to grow and learn to regulate the emotions.  So why is it so excruciating as a parent to see them go through the hard stuff?  It’s because we can’t fix it but it’s also because so often our children are only seen by their fellow teens at face value and not appreciated for all they have to offer beneath physical beauty, popularity or athletic ability.  This makes us go into fierce, protective mode.

I wrote a while back about our kids in terms of Butterflies and Fireflies.  I revealed that in my two children, I have one of each.  Right now my heart aches immensely for my Firefly. You see, today my Firefly learned that it didn’t make a sports team that it was so excited about.  I can’t force the school to take the Firefly, of course, and objectively I realize that the Firefly wasn’t among the strongest players that tried out.  It is what it is.  But the primal momma bear in me knows that the Firefly making this team would have been so beneficial (these reasons don’t necessarily have anything to do with athletic ability).   The firefly could have used the confidence boost and meeting some new friends would have been a Godsend.  I don’t believe in the notion that all kids should get to play just because they try out and I definitely don’t believe they should all get participation trophies for crying out loud.  The most deserving kids earn their spots on teams by hard work and ability, especially at the high-school level and beyond.  But oh, how my heart hurts right now and oh, how I’m having trouble accepting that logic in this moment.  The Butterflies get the glory, get the accolades and the attention.  The Fireflies are worthy of all these, too, but because some things don’t come naturally, because they aren’t shiny in all moments they can get looked over by peers and even labeled as unpopular or nerdy.  (It’s not until we mature that many of us realize that nerdy is a good thing and the most interesting, successful people were deemed nerds earlier in life).  My Firefly has mentioned that exclusion has already reared its ugly head because of not fitting into a generic mold of what is “cool” (or whatever term kids use these days). For all the wonderful attributes that teenagers have, they are also quick to judge and make rash decisions, and are egocentric (traits they most certainly learned from their parents who behave similarly and are as fake as the day is long – more on that another time!).  These judge-y kids want to be around those they initially perceive to be superior.  Making a sports team, while a very worthy accomplishment, doesn’t make a kid superior.  Teens often don’t take the time to get to know the quiet kids, the kids that aren’t part of 8 bazillion clubs and sports teams.  It’s so unfortunate because our Fireflies are some of the most funny, caring, fundamentally good kids out there.  It breaks my heart to know that my Firefly may endure some sort of taunting or exclusion based on non-acceptance onto a team. 

My firefly has coping mechanisms, as we all do, to outwardly minimize disappointment and I worry so much that feelings will be bottled up inside and self-doubt will start to grow like a smelly, teenage fungus.  It is the most frustrating, gut-wrenching, paralyzing part of parenting that I’ve experienced so far.   I realize that my words of encouragement and love may not make my Firefly feel much better at this moment (but I won’t stop offering them).  Time and hopefully a good diversion of some sort will accomplish that.   I’ve already emailed a kind note of advice hoping that it is seen as soon as possible today, long before I do school pickup and we can actually talk. 

Today our teen learned a good lesson and I know we will make the best out of it.  I want both my kids to be resilient, kind and wise.  In order for them to achieve those things, I know they must face some adversity, some pain, some disappointment.  So now my husband and I will band together and offer support and love; and along with our Firefly’s help, we will discover the next goal to tackle.  I know my Firefly will find its niche; it’s just a matter of time.  This definitely won’t be the last of the heartbreak or disappointment for either of our children.  In fact, we are just beginning. 

I just wish that this mommy could make it better faster.