Becoming a parent, parenting and leveling up
My role as a mother
Yes, it’s true, there have been no Substack posts the last two weeks. I’ve been caught in an introspective and contemplative loop sparked by one the Substack office hours; To ask some simple and profound questions of myself - Why do I write and who am I writing for?
First, a big thanks to my fellow Substacker, Mick Betancourt, for the invaluable conversation we had last Sunday about writing, readers and purpose. It helped pull me out of the loop and keep writing. Thanks Mick!
I started Substack to talk about the process of trusting your instincts. The narratives I’ve posted, for the most part, swirl around this concept.
But, what about the simple question of why I write and who I’m writing for?
One of the reasons I write, is to give my stories to my kids. To make them laugh, to impart life tools I’ve learned the hard way, and to leave them with an audio imprint of me. So that one distant day (hopefully), when the question of my carbon footprint is irrelevant, they’ll still have a part of who I am.
So, for the foreseeable future, I'll be sharing from the lens of a mother. As a reader, I would love to know what you think of this perspective. Does it resonate? Does it help or enlighten you? Does it gives you your own new ideas?
This week, I've written about parenting, leveling up, and what I believe my role is as a parent. Hint: it’s not to raise healthy contributing members of society.
I became a parent the day after I turned nineteen. It was March 8, 1986.
My labor lasted five and a half hours. It went fast because I was having 90 second contractions and only 30 second breaks. The pain? It was all encompassing. I couldn’t talk. That’s not entirely true. I could sort of talk. I would whisper one word after every contraction, “ice.”
I was giving birth at Keesler Air Force base in Biloxi, Mississippi. The male nurse who was assigned to give me an IV looked even younger than I was. I barely noticed him struggling to get the IV set in my hand, or hear him apologize. He left the room and came back with a bucket and mop. During a 30 second breathing break, I saw him mopping up a huge pool of blood on the floor. That was the least painful part of the whole experience. I was exhausted, drained, empty and full of tears.
Mom had flown all the way from Alaska to Mississippi for the birth. I had never been so happy to have her around. We’d been at odds the previous five years, so, a week later, when it was time for her to leave, I panicked. I needed her. I was an exhausted, emotional wreck. We were standing in the laundry room of the apartment complex. I was gently swinging my daughter in her car seat. She had colic and had to be in constant motion with constant white noise. Silent tears ran down my face, “Please, you can’t leave me. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
But, she had to leave. Her life, my father and five kids were waiting for her.
“You’ll be okay,” she said, “you’ll figure it out. Every new mom feel overwhelmed, exhausted and like they can’t do it. But you can. You can do it.”
A few months later, for Mother’s Day, my mom sent me a card with a comic strip, “If raising kids was going to be easy, it wouldn’t have started with something called labor.”
Despite the blood loss and physical trauma of childbirth, when I held my baby girl in my arms, I was flooded with an unconditional, irrevocable and undying love for her. It was such a strong and profound feeling that I told my husband, “I can’t have any more kids.”
“Why not?”
We both came from big families, so we assumed we’d have at least a few.
“It won’t be fair,” I said, “It’s impossible for me to love another child as much as I love her. It wouldn't be fair to them. I can’t do that to another child.”
“You’re being dramatic,” he said, “of course you can love another child just as much.”
“I can’t. And I won’t do it.”
Our marriage didn’t last long enough for us to discuss another child. We were divorced in March of 1988, the week after I turned 21.
Today, pushing forty years later, only one of these things is true. Raising kids isn’t easy.
It did take me fourteen years to have another child. A boy this time.
Then three years later I had another girl.
My ex-husband was right, I could love another child just as much. I thought I reached maximum capacity, but my experience has proven there’s no limit. That undying, unconditional, irrevocable love just keeps getting bigger.
And it has to get bigger, because, like every parent knows, raising kids isn’t easy. And while there’s lots of times when it’s a labor of love and it’s all worth it because they’re incredible human beings.
But that undying, irrevocable, unconditional love is really needed for the tough times, the scary times and the times you’re helpless. It’s for when they’re hurt and you can’t take away the pain. When you’re scared for them and they won’t open up to you. It’s for the times they’re bullied and you’re not allowed to beat up the other kids. Or worse, for the times you’ve caused them pain and they’re justifiably angry with you. It’s for the times they think you’ve ruined their life and you believe you’re doing what’s best for them. It’s for the times you’ve screwed up, lost their trust and don’t know how to get it back. You need that love to grow because they will push every button you have and then some.
Unconditional love means you got their back and you’ll never give up. LIFE will always asks you to prove it.
Parenting is a leveling up game. Physically, Emotionally, Intellectually and Spiritually.
That feeling of being unprepared when my daughter was a few days old and my mom was leaving, that fear that I don’t know what I’m doing and I need help; that feeling has greeted me at the threshold of every new chapter. And I’ve come to learn, that feeling is my call to action. Am I going to learn what I need to learn, do what I need to do, become who I need to become, to level up? To be the guide and mentor they need me to be?
I’ve always disagreed that the role of a parent is to raise healthy contributing members of society. That might be the outcome, but I don’t think that’s my role.
My goal as a parent has always been to help my children to be themselves. To listen to themselves and to trust themselves.
For any parent whose children are old enough to bump into the world, you know that’s a tall order.
Next week's Substack will be a quick process I taught my kids on how to listen to their gut.
Beautiful Sidse! Wow. Thank you for sharing that.
What a wonderfully honest and sincere piece of writing! A joy to read!