The Child You Have

I remember preparing for college. I was only 16, but I felt more than ready to move away from home. It wasn't a peaceful childhood. For lots of reasons. And I wanted to carve out a life that suited me. It would take decades to do that, by the way, but I didn't know it at the time.

It was the 80s, so all of my correspondence with my chosen university was through snail mail. It's hard to imagine a world without email or smart phones now, but back then we were limited in how we could communicate. It was kind of a blessing in retrospect. I anxiously checked the mailbox every day waiting for news about my future life. Housing assignments. Appointments to choose my classes. How to buy textbooks. It was an adventure.

When I received a packet in the mail about sororities- which included an application- I quickly chucked it into the trash bin. I was not doing that. I felt done with putting my energy toward my social status. I had been a cheerleader, participated in beauty pageants, been part of student government, and did all the things my parents (and I, to a lesser extent) felt a successful young woman should do. But it didn't feel right to me. I always felt like an imposter. Like I was trying to be someone I wasn't. My authentic self felt nerdier. Quieter. Less visible. That's what I wanted in college. I wanted to be myself and focus on school and care less about popularity and more about actual happiness.

I came home from high school a few afternoons later and discovered that my Mom had retrieved the sorority application from the garbage and started to fill it out for me. When I protested, she explained that she thought it would be best for me to be part of a social community and meet people and develop friendships through a sorority. I understood where she was coming from, so I indulged her by completing the application myself. Then, instead of mailing it, I threw it away. At my fast food job. So my Mom couldn't meddle again. Honestly, it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I get that Greek life is amazing for some. It just wasn't for me. And that was the thing about my parents (when I was young)... they didn't really know me. Instead, I was kind of a project that they loved and wanted to see succeed after their work was done. A lot of parents take that approach. I wonder, though, what my childhood would have been like if they had taken time to get to know who I really was.

When I became a parent, I read voraciously because I so badly wanted to do a good job. One of the bits of advice that stuck with me was: Raise the child you have, not the child you want. That's so powerful, right? Because our kids are on their own journeys. They have divinely-written stories to live out. And they're not going to always make sense to us. They're not supposed to.

Our kids are not miniature versions of us. They're definitely not our second chance at getting the life thing right. They're unique. Individual. Completely singular. And our approach to raising them needs to be tailored to who they are. Not who we hope they'll be.

Not every kid is meant to be good at sports, excel academically, be a social butterfly, or even be compliant. And it isn't a parental failure if they aren't. It's just not.

Look, I never imagined I'd be supporting a cosplay habit. Or homeschooling a socially-awkward middle schooler. Or dealing with multiple cats. Or visiting Pokemon Go hot spots. Or driving my daughter and her girlfriend to prom. It's been an adventure, though. And one I've been delighted to travel because I've been witnessing an incredible human being become who she was always meant to be. I've discovered her as she's been discovering herself. And discovering life. And I've gotten to see things through her eyes. What a gift.

My child has definitely not fit any mold. She lamented that from time to time when she was young. She didn't always feel as though she fit in. She was never the most popular kid in class. I loved that, though, and I told her so. Because, as much as she felt different, she refused to be anyone but herself. I was so proud that she didn't change or dilute herself to be like everyone else. And I truly hope that her father and I had a hand in giving her the courage to be who she was- who she is- because she knew and knows that we will love her completely no matter what. It hasn't always been an easy journey, though.

When my daughter was about 14, she struggled with depression. We had just come through my Mom's battle with cancer. It was two years of mostly hell, quite honestly. And my daughter was processing all the things that come with adolescence along with witnessing the brutal death of someone she loved dearly. I took her to see a therapist friend. After a few sessions, my friend told me- without betraying my daughter's confidence- that my child had thought about ending her own life. It was dark. And I felt truly terrified. Every time my precious child went to the bathroom to take a shower after that, I secretly sat outside the door listening for signs of life. After she fell asleep at night, I curled up at the foot of her bed so I could hear her breaths. I knew I couldn't "fix" what she was going through, but I could love her through it. That became my number one priority. Loving my daughter with everything I had was what I did every day. I prayed my guts out for the darkness to pass. I thank God that it did.

One afternoon, halfway through one of my daughter's therapy sessions, I was summoned from the waiting room to join the conversation. My daughter told me that she was gay. I instinctively erupted with love and threw my arms around her. She apologized because she wasn't who she thought I wanted her to be. I apologized that she thought I wouldn't love her for exactly who she is.

I realized part of my daughter's depression stemmed from feeling like I wouldn't accept her fully. I was an active Christian. Part of church leadership. But I never spoke- or even thought- poorly about anyone who is gay. I have dear dear friends who are homosexual and bisexual and trans. I've always loved all of them without hesitation. But I still drag myself over what I could have said or done that made her feel like I wouldn't love her. It occurred to me that even our affiliations can make our children feel unloved and unsafe. From that moment on, I resolved never to be part of a friend circle, church, relationship, or organization that would make her question my unconditional love and devotion. That was the right thing to do to love the child that God entrusted to me.

Not surprisingly, things got much better after that. Being fully loved allows us to be fully ourselves. And to love ourselves. The child I had needed to know that I was all in. I was. And I am.

I made mistakes as my daughter was growing up. I still do. She's 25 now- she hasn't been under my wing since she left for college at age 17- and she has become the most extraordinary young woman. Sometimes despite me. She's braver than I am. More grounded. More in tune with who she is. And she knows her value. I always knew she would do great things, but to watch it- to witness her- unfold before my eyes is worth my whole life.

Being a mom to an adult child has a very different playbook; one that's being written and rewritten all the time. I've learned that when I try to be too prescriptive, too advisory, or too heavy handed, our closeness takes a hit. She needs and deserves my trust, my support, my compassion, my love. If she wants advice, she'll ask. And man oh man do I love those moments just a little too much. It's like a starving woman getting a loaf of bread every time she asks, "Mom, what do you think about..." If the girl asked me to plan an event for her, I'm sure my heart would absolutely explode with happiness. A few people will get that.

I know that one day I will leave this earth and I hope my child never wonders if I loved her or if she made me proud or if I wished she had been anyone else but who she is. I will consider my life a success if my daughter lives hers knowing that her mother loves her like crazy, would absolutely take a bullet for her, and would show up in a hot second if she needed me.

I have gotten many things wrong, but loving my kid is not one of them. I hope God agrees and is happy that He entrusted His unique, beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, talented, creative, kind, and thoughtful daughter to me. Can you imagine me ever hurting the amazing human He gave me to parent because of some weird, preconceived notion of what a person should be? I can't. How can we love our children any less than God does? We fall short, for sure. But we have to try.

I recently heard someone say he wishes he could be with every version his daughter has ever been, one at every age. For me, that would mean 25 versions of my girl. I love that idea so much. Because time is so fleeting and our kids grow up too fast. By the time we start to figure out our three year old, she turns four. And so on. What if the three year old stayed and then the four year old joined the party. How cool would that be?

Sadly, it doesn't work that way. We just have the version of our child that's in front of us now. That's the child we need to love with all we've got. The child we have.

Xoxo, B