My oldest daughter and I were talking yesterday and she said 'being home is like pushing the pause button – and once I get back to school, my life starts up again.' Her sense of coming home for the summer has been slightly surreal. Walking back into her childhood after spending a year celebrating her ability to live in the adult world was jarring. I think her experience is unique in that she is aware of why she feels the way she does. And I'm not insulted or disappointed in what she is saying because I know how much she loves us and I am so proud of her ability to stride forward into her own future as an adult. She simply feels the difference of being an adult out in the world on her own – and coming home to stay in the house she grew up in.
We read a book called the Paradox of Intimacy by Donald Williamson during our first year of graduate school and he talked quite a bit about how individuals leaving home often lack the 'personal authority' or individuality needed to become an adult. This trait is something that most of us are left to develop on our own as we stumble through our twenties – when we finally are able to put some sort of distance –physical or mental – space between who we are and who our family has said we are. Personal authority is the final piece of growing up, those moments when we begin to value ourselves as unique and see that our own perspective no longer has to meld with that of our families of origin. It's nice when all those perspectives can exist in harmony. Sometimes they do – sometimes they don't. Williamson puts out there that the ideal growth pattern is to help our teenagers establish their personal authority as they leave home. We step back and give them the space to develop their own abilities to navigate life. We stop rescuing them from homework assignments and social angst – we (parents) become the backdrop, allowing the container in which we have always held them to widen out. The difference between a zoo cage and a wild animal park. Sorry – I just had to use that metaphor!
I learned early that the most dangerous person in my daughter's life was herself. Without self esteem, without the ability to find her passion, without the chance to try and explore the world with her own vision – she would fail to thrive. She stepped into college with an excitement and ambition that again, I have rarely seen. But she chose a college that dared her to be the greatest artist possible – her dreams, not mine or anyone else's. And she thrives as she gains new levels of confidence – in her abilities to take care of her body, manage her fears and push her talents to grow.
So I can understand how coming home this summer felt like a pause button. In some ways, I believe that that isn't such a bad thing. I do ask her to participate in the maintenance of the household – because she is an adult and she is living here – but beyond that, I've allowed her to decide when she wants to spend time with us, when she wants to enjoy a meal that someone else cooked. We don't wait for her but she gives me the courtesy of knowing when to set another plate. We talk about the ways in which coming home is somewhat of a backslide – how inescapable it is to step back into that role of child with another adult as ultimate authority (parents). We talk about it so that it is out in the open – explicit – and more amusing then intolerable. Her fiercely independent nature can still make space for a soothing head rub. I am and always will be her mother, afterall.
The nurturing is still needed but it becomes a more open and loving relationship that allows for distance. For me, it is becoming about always have a welcome mat out. The invitation for care and love and unconditional support is there to be tapped – when she needs it. I like being part of my daughter's pause button – even as she paces, restless to get back to her dorm room, new classes and more. From my perspective (which she doesn't have to share), having people with whom we can find those moments of pausing/rest are good. And, as she heads back east this month, I'll cheer her on as she revs back up in her own life experience. You go girl.
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