i am already proud of you
I was struck by two thoughts this week.
The first was a comment made by our daughter: “Thanks for coming to my game, even though I didn’t play much.”
The other was a quote I read in an article about supporting our children: “I am already proud of you.”
I could end here - you probably get the connection. But humor me for a second; I think the connection is critical.
Our children are facing real mental health challenges, and while I don’t have all of the answers (I wish I did!), I do think about it a lot.
Every day they are asked to learn something new, step outside of the box, take risks, deal with puberty, make mistakes and then learn from them, make new friends, love themselves, know themselves, be themselves, keep all of their emotions intact, find a passion or two - or three - and look good doing it, and do it well… while in front of a very large viral audience.
Depending on temperament and God-given talent - and often luck - all of that can be extremely difficult.
The world that I grew up in was different - less intense, less competitive, less on stage…less everything.
And I find that most of the time, I just want our children to be okay. That may sound like a low bar, but it’s actually not.
Because if you have a child who is struggling or has ever struggled or will struggle, then you get that. Being okay is a win.
I used to tell our children that if they worked hard, they could achieve anything. And although I still advocate hard work, I did them a disservice; I now disconnect the hard work from the desired outcome.
The first-choice school, a great grade, acne-free skin, a starting position, a shiny diploma, a lead role in the play.
Sometimes no matter how hard our children work, it simply won’t be enough.
Sometimes there are things out of their control.
Sometimes they won’t get what they want. Sometimes they won’t get what we want.
As a society, we need to realize that what we are demanding of our children is excessive and unsustainable, and as parents we need to let our children know that we love them for all of their unique and wonderful qualities unattached to and devoid of any accomplishments.
Over the weekend, I spent some time looking at old family pictures. I was feeling nostalgic, wishing that my big children were still little.
There were silly pictures of our boys in their favorite attire - Superman pajamas with detachable capes - and ones of our daughter dressed in her pink ballet tutu, holding on to her beloved stuffed cat.
But one in particular stood out. It was of one of the boys, new to the world, swaddled in a hospital blanket and resting in my arms, and the look on my face seemed to say it all:
I am already proud of you.