Control is a figment of our imagination. Seeking it only makes us more anxious. It certainly isn’t required for good child rearing. And to the extent that we do manage to solve all our children’s problems -- or keep those problems from ever even popping up -- we are doing them a disservice. Not a fatal one that will stunt our children forever. But still, we are steering them away from the real source of confidence and independence, which comes from navigating the world and its surprises. Especially the unpleasant ones.
He was my little old soul, extremely verbal, and in many ways, wise beyond the four little chubby fingers he held up when asked his age. He loved going with me on movie dates to the big theater. Up until that point, we had only seen animated movies, but that day we were seeing “The Velveteen Rabbit.” It looked like real life with human actors. Halfway into the movie he tugged on my arm. He was quietly sobbing and crawled up into my lap. As his giant tears soaked my sweatshirt, my mind was flooded with profanities. What was I thinking? The mom dies! Please don’t take the rabbit! He will never recover from this! Why did I bring him to this soul-crushing movie?
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| Photo by Amanda Iannella. |
Since that day, I have given birth to another child and raised her for eight years. If I took her to the same film, she would also tug on my arm halfway through, but she would be bored and probably just want a snack. My children are two completely different, unique creatures. Some days it hardly even seems like the same job parenting each of them. My first born’s sensitivity requires me to be acutely aware of the emotional climate of our surroundings. He feels everything in a big, big way. It is beautiful to behold and makes for some of my proudest moments as a mother, like the day he rolled down his window at a red light and screamed at some birds who were “bullying” a smaller bird and trying to rob a piece of bread. “They were bullying him, Mom! Don’t be a bystander.” Equal to the joy he brings me, his fragile, open spirit is terrifying to parent.
We saw “The BFG” last week. I always ask the kids what they believe to be the moral or lesson of the story. My second child instantly shouted, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” My first born paused and thought for a moment. “No, I think it doesn’t matter how big or small you are; what matters is the size of your heart.” Aside from the obvious fact that he happens to be very small (the only ten year old whose mean mom still makes him ride in a booster seat) and has a very large heart that he wears on his sleeve for the whole world to knock right off and trample, he was thinking, feeling, and internalizing the message of the film. My best friend’s husband commented that my son’s poignant interpretation was thoughtful. I shouted, “But it is terrifying! He feels everything.This world will hurt him so much.” Accustomed to my dramatics, he looked at me and smiled. “Yeah, but you gotta let him feel it all.” Gulp.
As much as I want to scoop up my son and throw him into a padded, isolated room, shielding him from all the ugly and hurt in this world, I have to “let him feel.” When a classmate betrays him or ridicules him, I have to watch his bottom lip quiver and help him make sense of the fact that someone would ever want to hurt him for no reason. When we watch nature documentaries and he leaves the room because he can’t stand to witness animals die as part of the cycle of life, I call him back in when the coast is clear. When he finishes a book series and cries at his final goodbye to a beloved cast of characters he knows he will never meet again, I help him research the next set of adventures he can dive into. And when he sees news of plane crashes, or shootings, or riots, or bombs lighting up a city full of boys and girls his age sleeping in their beds, I do my best to answer his questions and calm his worry.
Naturally, I am concerned what will happen when my husband and I are not there to help him work through “all the feelings.” I have always thought of my children as pieces of my heart walking around outside of my body -- it is almost weird. While trying to protect them, they make me feel so much. Perhaps the truth is that raising a sensitive child is making me more sensitive, which is also beautiful and terrifying. All too often it is easier to be numb and turn off “all the feels,” but that is no longer an option for me.
A friend recently said, “As they get older, the problems just get bigger.” She was referencing the idea that today’s temper tantrums at a restaurant can become tomorrow’s DUI or unexpected pregnancy, so enjoy the “little problems” while you can. This insight might be a bit too “doom’s day” for my liking, but I get it. I know that one day I will long for the days my child’s biggest heartbreak was over a movie. His life will have all the ups and downs of reality. He will feel some really low lows, but I have to remind myself that he will also feel plenty of high highs. He will love in a big way. He will help people in a big way. He will open up his heart to someone, and maybe they will trample it, but as my friend said, I have to “let him feel it all.” My sensitive child will suffer more, but he will also love more. He will have to learn to strike a balance - seeing beyond potential hurt to potential reward.
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| My small boy with a big heart. |
As his mom, I will crumble each time he hurts and feel it in my very bones. I will wipe away tears and cheer him on to the next life lesson and experience. As he feels it all, I will carry the ebb and flow of his emotions pumping through my veins. I will continually remind myself to relinquish control of the things I cannot change and know that he will be just fine. He will be more than fine and find plenty to feel, whether he is surrounded by family, friends, classmates or teammates. Along the way, I will gather wisdom from my children and learn to see the world through their eyes, taking in all the pain and beauty from a new, unique perspective. I, too, will “feel it all.”
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