Ouch

The most painful experience of my life was not, in fact, childbirth.  

My mom told me the truth.  I can’t deny that.  She told me that being a parent is a trip down the lane of guilt.  She did not say this to be depressing or demotivating or unsupportive.  Rather, she said this to sum up what I think most mothers feel - inadequate.  Too many mistakes.  I weaned her too soon.  She will have abandonment issues.  I nursed her too long.  She is too clingy.  I acommodate him too much.  He will suffer from entitlement issues.  I don’t give her enough attention.  She will always feel inadequate.  I have too many kids and they get too little of me.  I don’t have enough kids - they aren’t being properly socialized.  I should keep her home and school them here.  I should send them to school so they can have all the great experiences I did.  

To summarize:  We don’t think we know what we are doing and are constantly afraid we are not doing it right.  

But why does this bother us?  Why do I stay up too late googling how to help a child who gets too stressed out and suffer from what-am-I-doing-I-shouldn’t-be-a-parent?  

It’s because we love them so much that it hurts.  It actually hurts.  When I look at my kids and think about their little souls, my heart is in pain.  They are beautiful, well adjusting, thriving kids, but something stirs in me and I hurt.  

I want the best for them.  

I want them to always be accepted.  I want them to find a best friend - their version of my Jessie.  I hope they will find love in everyone they know and will learn how to give it out abundantly.  I smile at the thought of them being happy, fulfilled, and content.  

But I can’t rest in that.  

Because I know.

A boy will tell my girl that she is perfect, then will change his mind and leave her heart in pain.  He will try something that he wants to learn to do and will try and try and try and fail over and over again.  They will offer their love to people who reject it.  They will fall down and get hurt.  They will fight.  They will get sick.  And they will cry.

And I know that.  

But I also know that my guilt in falling short of being the perfect parent doesn’t prevent pain in their hearts.  My love can’t even do that. 

This past year, I have unlearned a lot of things about God.  I am less sure and more confused about it all.  But oddly enough, I am ok with that.  I’m good with it.  What I do know is that there is some kind of Parent up there who is hurting for me.  Someone who loves me so much, so so much, that it hurts.  

So this year, as I continue to plague myself with guilt and hurt at the thought of my kids facing life, I will hold to this:

The only thing I am sure about, absolutely sure about, is that the only thing that I can do is love them.  When it feels good and when it hurts.  

Childbirth has nothing on child loving.