I am so invested in this little girl’s life experience. Maybe too invested.
And, if I’m honest, It’s terrifying. It’s pressurizing. It’s anxiety-producing.
We spend so much time together, avoiding enmeshment and projection feels dang near impossible. I feel too important. I feel too responsible for who she is and what she wants and how she’s doing. She’s so front and center to my world, she eclipses any other reference point.
And this is not just my experience. I’ve heard similar from others. This is what moms are up against. Namely the stay-at-home moms who have done personal growth work and prioritize positive, gentle, present, conscious parenting. The ones that are hyper aware of how our every interaction and intention has the potential of a lifetime of impact.
It’s exhausting to know so much. To know better requires we do better … and, ya’ll, it’s a heavy, heavy thing to hold the responsibility of changing the [proverbial] family tree. Especially in the age of pandemics and lockdowns and ever-changing individual and systemic standards.
How do we do it? “It” being finding a healthy balance of informed intentionality and differentiation, validating attention and adequate personal space, educated awareness and blissful innocence … conscious discipline and giving ourselves a break … learning our child and caring for ourselves. It’s just hard. Not impossible, but friggin’ hard!
Add pregnancy hormones and medication-induced anxiety … and, welp, that’s where I am. Thankfully, it’s not where I’ll stay.
LOVE.
Currently reading: “The Other Wife” by Claire McGowan
Currently playing: “Something Was Wrong” podcast, Season 1