resiliency, or guilt vs. grace

Why are we so heavy with guilt?  As moms, this seems to be a running theme — whether it is guilt about our children, our marriages, our houses, our work — it seems as though we all carry an invisible burden that we are constantly not doing enough.  We fall short, and we beat ourselves up for it. We crumble to the weight.  I want to change that: instead of guilt, heavy and burdensome, I’m choosing Grace, easy and light. I want to embrace my inadequacies, bear them with my loved ones, and offer them up as sacrifices.

The Working Mother’s Research Group just published a report of a survey it conducted with both working and stay-at-home-moms and it found that well over half of both groups experienced guilt about the cleanliness of their homes.  Working women felt guilty about the amount of time spent with children and women at home felt guilty about not contributing financially.

This week I also read a study about praising our children.  There was so much in it that I want to think about, but one finding of this study had to do the type of praise a child recieves.  It suggested that for more resilient children, and therefore more resilient adults, as parents we need to be less generous with person-based praise and more generous with process-based praise.  ”Kids praised for their efforts believe that trying hard, not being smart, matters. These kids are “resilient” and take more risks.”

To me, these two issues are interwoven.  The idea that we feel pressure for perfection, and then guilt from not reaching it, suggests that we lack precisely resiliency the second study applauds.  It seems to me that we are motivated by feedback, and feel as though we fall short when we don’t get the positive feedback that we were anticipating.  Having grown up as part of this over-praised generation, this makes sense to me.

I don’t get a high five every time I put dishes away.  My children won’t have any concept of the energy and effort I spend on them until they are well into the process of raising their own kids.  I’m not going to get a Thank You for enforcing boundaries, giving rules and expecting manners.  If I’m super lucky, and it’s a good day, someone might say Thank You for cooking dinner as we sit down for grace before the meal.  The lack of praise could lead me to believe that what I’m doing isn’t good enough — that I need to pile on the guilt because there is more that I should be accomplishing, different ways of meeting others’ needs.  But I know better.  Though there are plenty of areas where I fall short as a mother, as in life, I know that I love my family and I am committed to them.  My shortcomings allow for me to receive Grace — His, and theirs, too.  It allows me to be human to my Little Ones, to show them that they, too, are worthy of His Grace.

Of course I want my Little Ones to be proud of who they are.  But I want them to know that there are not loved because they are Smart, or Strong, or Athletic, or Beautiful.  They are simply loved.  And I want them to pursue excellence in all things, and work hard, not because of the praise they will receive, and how it in turn will become part of their identity, but because of the chance to seek a challenge and apply themselves to the best of their abilities.  To learn how to fail, and allow themselves to picked up again, without the guilt.  I want them to truly know Grace.  Isn’t that resiliency?

read these now

I’ve been reading, thinking, praying, contemplating.  If you want to join me, try here:

The Domestic Monastery  :: challenging me to think of my time mothering little ones as monastic: “What is a monastery? A monastery is not so much a place set apart for monks and nuns as it is a place set apart (period). It is also a place to learn the value of powerlessness and a place to learn that time is not ours, but God’s.”  // convicting, but maybe giving me an opportunity that I hadn’t seen before.

The Practices of Mothering  :: the power of our words, what are we sowing, how are we affirming ourselves and our little ones.  I’m really looking forward to the rest of her series, too. “But it is spiritual and powerful because in my heart, I see my life – and the lives of my tinies – as fertile ground.  And the words I scatter so carelessly around me can take root in the hearts and minds of us all, giving a narrative deep in the core about ourselves, the God we love, each other and our world. I am conscious of sowing words that give life in and about my tinies and my husband.”

For the Claire Dunphy’s and not the Claire Huxtable’s  ::  reminded again that Mothering is a marathon, and not a sprint.  I am not perfect, my kids are not perfect.  And that’s OK.

What are you reading?  

home, my island

Today I was without a car.  I’ve been at home with the two little ones, and frankly, last night when I was anticipating our day, it  loomed large and blank in front of me. I was overwhelmed with the hours.  Now, I have mentioned before how unscheduled we generally are.  And mostly, this works for us. It gives us flexibility in how we use our time, unstructured, no pressure.  But the idea of not even leaving the house?  See, the problem with where we live is that I depend on my car.  We do not live in a “town;” no sidewalks here, linking us to the world.  We do not even live in a neighborhood where we could take a leisurely stroll, maybe bump into some folks.  Nope, we live on a pretty major road, on a serious hill.  (These are all things that didn’t matter to me before I had kids.  Now I have a different checklist).  We are legitimately stuck at home.

Oh, and I know — there are days when this challenge would actually excite me.  All those rainy day projects I’d been holding onto would finally make their debuts and the kids would be excited to unleash their inner Picasso.  Or I would check out the pantry and pull together a baking marathon that would  cover my kitchen (and the little helpers) in flour, passing the morning and resulting in tasty treats as reward.  But today all of these things felt exhausting.  All I could see was more mess to clean up, more chores to do, more whining to ensue.  (Some days are just like that, aren’t they?)

The kids were great today.  The weather was beautiful.  We read lots of books, did lots of puzzles.  Trucks, trains, make-believe stew.  There were squabbles over taking turns, sharing toys.  I was a human jungle-gym more than I like.  Our dinner plan was foiled when I discovered that the chicken I was counting on had spoiled, and I had no way to get new chicken.  It wasn’t the best day we’ve ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst.   I have to remind myself that sometimes it’s OK not to be super-mom.  I wasn’t bored out of my mind, and neither were the kids.  They surprised me, and I was there for them. We did fine.  Sometimes that’s what it is — fine.

The call came around 4pm that it looked like my car was needed on-loan for another day.  Though we made it through fine today, my husband and I scrambled to find a way for me to have a car tomorrow.  I know my limitations, and though we have no glorious plans for the day tomorrow, an outing to the library or the playground, or even the bank, is a necessity.  I’m not going to press my luck.  I’m getting out of here tomorrow.

retreat

Today begins an adventure for me.  I’m leaving this evening for a full weekend away from my family.  I’ve never done this before — never even had an overnight away from the little ones.  To say that I’m a bit ambivalent about the whole scheme is an understatement.

Let me be clear by saying that I completely, 100%, without a doubt know that my husband is more than capable of handling this.  He is a very involved, amazing father.  I don’t have to tell him about our routines because he already knows them and is a part of them.  My hesitation comes from my own inability to give up control.  I began writing a list of meal and snack possibilities, then quickly threw it away.  Luckily, I came to my senses before I inadvertently betrayed a lack of confidence in my husband.  I have the utmost confidence in him.

I worry about the littlest — she is still nursing, though not much.  I’m afraid of two things:  that she’ll be a mess without nursing at bedtime and will have a difficult time going to sleep.  Or that she will not care at all about nursing, and upon my return will have decided that she no longer wants to.  I’m not ready for that.

I worry about the eldest — though he often feigns to not care for me, I know that we are deeply attached.  He is also a little boy of routine.  He thrives on structure, on predictability.  I’m not sure how he’ll react.  This is clearly well out of our routine.

I’m sad to be missing out on this family time with them, but I am thankful. Thankful to have some space of my own — to think, to pray, to read, to sleep.  To just be on my own.  To enjoy the companionship of my girl friends.  Thankful for my willing husband, whom I know will relish this time with his little ones.  Thankful that he is eager to embrace this weekend as a gift, a rare opportunity.  Thankful that he knows that he can never be mommy.

My prayer is that I will return from this retreat refreshed, renewed and rejoicing in the Provision of our Lord.  Won’t you pray with me?

guilty mama

Lately, reading bits and pieces on the web, I stumbled on this post about when moms need a break — and it struck something for me.  Nothing about her thoughts or questions is new or particularly jarring, but it happened to be the EXACT rumblings of conversation my husband and I were having this weekend.  Here was my scenario:  beautiful Saturday morning.  We’d already been out and about and had enjoyed our family music class together, and were still a bit uncertain about the rest of the morning plans.  The eldest wanted to run, literally amuck, through our thawing backyard and swingset, and my husband was all set to tackle this.  I was not.

They all went out to enjoy the sunshine.  I sipped my coffee watching from the window and feeling terribly…. guilty.  I should be out there with them.  No reason why my husband wasn’t super capable of handling both little ones, but it was time we could be, should be spending together as a family.  So instead of enjoying a moment of quiet, I paced for a while, and landed on folding clothing as a way to be productive and assuage a bit of the tugging guilt I was feeling.

Here’s the thing:  mothering is an always, all the time job.  This is clearly stating the obvious.  In previous jobs I’ve had, I’ve always tried my best to give it my all.  100%.  Put in all the effort.  It works, because there is always a point in which you go home at the end of the day.  Yes, I’m sure I’ve spent plenty of energy thinking about, planning for, work — but this is not the same as being on the clock all the time.  When my husband goes work he, generally, knows what is expected of him.  He knows his job description, he knows the work that he has been entrusted with.  There are things that are his to take care of, and there are others that are outside his purview.  Mothering is so different — the edges are fuzzy, the lines undefined.  My job description is always changing, and I must always be up for the current challenge.  Is this why I  feel guilty over something as silly as not playing outside with my family?   Am I not giving this 100% right in the moment?  Is there more I could be doing to make my family, my kids, better (more thoughtful, more compassionate, more interesting…)?  Of course the answer is always yes, and no.

Though this particular instance wasn’t exactly helpful in it’s ability to give me a break, it was my own doing.  I didn’t let myself have this break.  It did, however, give my husband something.  It gave him this beautiful half hour of uninterrupted time with both kids, playing and enjoying one another’s company.  Often when I’m involved, I’ll take the littlest so that he can romp around with the eldest, but this time he got a chance to be involved with the give and take of playing with them both, and together.   I let him have this time — this memory, these smiles — that is so often mine only.  And that was something special for him.

I need to remember this.  Too often I can selfishly hoard the mothering and by not allowing myself to have the pause that I so badly need, I am not sharing this bounty of blessings.  Next time, I’ll pour my coffee and enjoy my quiet.  Without guilt.