The The Quiet Letting Go: A Poignant Moment for Evolving Mothers

This week, I watched the crocuses in my garden lose some of their colour and start to lean over a little and, at the same time, the tiny buds on the primulas gathered their courage and began to unfurl and expose their bright petals one by one.

I get to watch a similar process in the mothers I guide through their parenting maze. An  overwhelmed, overreactive part of them quietens, lets go and fades into the background while, simultaneously, a steady, calm, intentional part of them begins to show itself, bit by bit, and gradually becomes the way they parent.

In the middle of that process, there’s a beautiful, profound moment when she sees that automatically reactive part of herself through a different lens - the lens of love.

Kelli, a mother of a 15 yo, would often say that she wished that anxious part of her would just go away. "I get so angry that I feel sick to my stomach. I'm afraid of what I might say, so I say nothing. Then later, when it's completely out of context, I snap at him really harshly. I criticize and blame and then he backs away and I feel so bad."

As we began working together, I had her observe that part of herself and listen closely to its internal dialogue. It wasn't long before she felt the sense of threat she used to feel a lot of the time as a child. The way her stomach tightens when her teenage son ignores their agreements is the same way her little tummy tightened back then. It was a warning: “Stay safe.” And 35 years later, it still was. The habit she developed as a child – retreating and then snapping at someone when they didn’t expect it – was playing out with her teenager.

As we explored that reactive part, it came to her: “It’s not a bad part of me that I have to banish or destroy. It’s a wise part that figured out how to protect me. And it kept at its job all these years.” And in that moment, her heart finally embraced this part of herself.

The next time Kelli and I met, we lit candles, burned incense, and did a sweet little ritual of appreciation for that Snapping Turtle, as we called it, for always caring about her wellbeing, always being on guard and doing what it could to keep her safe.

Then there was a pure white silence.

The flames flickered and I saw the old habit release of its grip and rise like a warm breath on a cold day. Then Kelli exhaled and her body relaxed as I’d never seen before.

Everything shifted in that moment. That urge to snap became less urgent, less automatic. She developed her ability to stay grounded when hearing harsh words, just stay and assess the level of threat to her safety from 1 to 10.

It was a pivot in her being and it became a place she could pivot in talks with her son, no longer snapping hurtful comments but, instead, feeling lighter and able to just stay in conversation with him. Like the croci sighing and letting go, and curious prims coming into bloom.

For Maggie, the freedom from her old, anxious way of parenting centered more around values than protection. The more she got to know her over-reactive part, which we called the Thirsty Crow, the more she came to see that her behaviours regarding her 22 yo were based on the way she values success.

Young adults don’t give us much positive feedback on our parenting and the rest of the world is pretty quick to judge how we’re doing by how our kids look, behave and achieve. And there was a part of Maggie that was thirsting for confirmation that she was succeeding at mothering. This craving was all-consuming and had her flying here and there, badgering her teenage son for information, meeting with teachers unnecessarily and furtively interrogating the parents of his friends.

She wept, “I know how inappropriate it is, but I feel like I really need to know if I’m doing it alright. Not knowing is the same as failing, and I can’t stand feeling like a failure as a mother.”

What followed was Maggie’s redefinition of success - a definition that came from deep within her heart. And as that took root, she began having new experiences of ‘good’ mothering. Not just a mental exercise of seeing it in a new way – we can all do the mental gymnastics and recite the positive affirmations - but having different thoughts go through her mind (e.g. this feels right to me) and having different experiences in her body, like ease in her chest and contentment in her belly.

And as her prying subsided, she started to feel her integrity and pride in how she’s parenting. Her 22 yo even began sharing a bit more about what was going on in her life. For Maggie, this was pure joy.

Questions to Explore

1. When you listen to the voice of the overwhelmed, overreactive part of you,

   1. what risk do you sense it’s trying to protect you from? or

   2. Which of your deeply held personal values might it be trying to uphold?

2. What do you appreciate about this part of you? In what situations does it shine, empower you, connect you or make contributions you’re proud of? Write for 5 full minutes (set a timer) without lifting your pen from the page. Let yourself be surprised.

3. How would you like to be able to regard this anxious part of you? And what would you have to know or have happen to be able to regard it in that way?

4. Finally, light a candle and write a letter to that part of you, expressing your gratitude for its faithful service and giving it permission to step back, quieten and rest. Sing or chant, decorate the page, feel your feelings and release it back to the dark, rich garden soil.

 It's likely that only part of this list calls to you. I trust you to listen to your instincts and go gently with yourself. And, as always, if you feel a little lost, reach out to me and I’ll help you find your way.

Neutralizing triggers, releasing outdated reaction patterns and sparking new ways of interacting with your teenager or young adult is exactly what we'll be doing in my upcoming workshop, "Steadiness and Staying". 

Check HERE for details and upcoming dates.