All We Can Do is Hold the Space

I sit here with quiet around me. This is rare during my day...and I'm fully

aware of how incredibly temporary it is. I hear serious and intense discussion being had upstairs in the playroom by "Big Jerry" and "Big Henry" (a.k.a. Odin and Viggo who have dubbed themselves these alter egos as they "camp and go bird-watching" and gaze through binoculars at the construction paper bald eagles hanging from yarn around the room). From where I'm at, it sounds as if all is going well with their creative camping extravaganza upstairs.

Days like these make my heart swell. They make me feel like all is right in our world, even though on so many levels, that's so far from the truth. But for the moment, I let that warm feeling nestle in with gratitude.

Every day doesn't feel like this though. Every day isn't filled with gratitude and warmth and assurance of where we're at. Some days are far from that. Instead, some days can feel incredibly overwhelming and filled with doubt. In fact, we had one of those days this week...

Overall, this journey into the depths of homeschooling that we've chosen has become one of heart-opening expansion, deep questioning, solid certainty, wavering UNcertainty, and immense challenge for me. It's been seamlessly easy and also the most difficult thing I've ever done all rolled up into one big, overwhelming package.

And although it feels a bit scary to be vulnerable about it all in this public forum, the truth is that no one benefits from pretending like it's something it's not...

Not me.

Not you.

Not those considering homeschooling.

Not those who would NEVER, EVER consider homeschooling.

Not anyone.

Because, we learn from each other. I believe that we expand and grow by hearing each other's stories and it's honestly the only thing that pulls me out of the rushing undercurrent on the days it's tugging me under. Upon hearing others' stories of parenting stress, self-doubt and resiliency, I immediately feel lifted up. It helps me to realize that even though I may feel like I'm standing on an island all my own, I'm actually camped out in a metropolis of doubting parents just like me. We're not alone in this.

With that said, let me share with you my parenting story of the week:

It started with our typical morning rhythm. We all rose with the day, filled with renewed optimism and energy. The hubs got ready for work. I got Viggo ready to go to the in-home daycare he goes to a couple of days a week and Odin hunkered down in his room listening to soft music and reading books at his leisure. When they were ready, I waved out the window as the hubs and Viggo drove away; Viggo's cute little hand frantically waving back and forth at me as if to say, "I'll miss you mama!"

The house was a bit quieter. Although Odin has his wild side, he's slow to get moving in the morning and relishes in his alone time, so he was nestled in his room. However, as the morning sun continued to rise, Odin and I got ourselves ready for the day, did our morning chores and then headed down to have one of our favorite breakfasts of the week: scrambled eggs from the backyard ladies with organic tomatoes, toast or a bagel with cream cheese, fresh fruit and organic orange juice. YUM!

Once we were ready, we headed into Northfield where our day would quickly be filled. The schedule of activities kicked off with Odin meeting with his mentor from Carlton College, whom he meets with​ once a week for an hour. We then went swimming at the YMCA where Odin practiced his strokes in the lap pool. After that, we hit up the library which, no question, is one of Odin's all-time favorite places to be. Then, we headed home to start dinner before the other half of our family arrived safely back in our nest.

In my overly cautious and questioning mind, we hadn't done much "school" that day. Admittedly, I expected to walk in the door and work on a lesson with Odin while I simultaneously made dinner. Having that, or any, kind of expectation was my first mistake.

I didn't see it at the time, but looking back, Odin was clearly exhausted and tapped-out from the busy day. I had asked over and over and over and over again for effort, concentration and focus in working on just a few school-related lessons for the day. That's about the point at which my frustration peaked. I yelled. I yelled about all the things I had asked over and over and over for and wasn't getting.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a yeller. I'm not proud of it, but I am. In some ways, the intensity of it can feel like just the release I need. With that said, I don't think yelling is acceptable and I am the first to acknowledge the many other ways in which my frustration and anger can be dealt with. But, the point is, I lost my cool. Big time. I yelled. Odin cried. It wasn't pretty.

I didn't think I was asking much, but it obviously was. And in that instant, I remember wondering how the hell this was ever going to work if THIS was what I was going to be getting? If I couldn't even get my child to TRY, how were we supposed to accomplish anything?

I now realize that all of this emotion and outrage was stemming from my own shortcomings and my own insecurities around if I'm doing a "good enough job" at what I've committed myself to or not. I failed to see how my own desire to cram so much into our day in order to feel like we were "doing enough" was actually hindering our time together. I failed to recognize that the whole reason I pulled Odin from the public school setting was exactly what I was trying to emulate at home, even though I knew it wasn't what served his personal learning profile best. It was all in an attempt to feel like I was doing "enough" by some other standard which I don't even adhere to. It all was a reflection of the said standard that I was trying to simultaneously live up to and fight off on any given day.

How can we be so sure of something inside of ourselves but yet be so pulled away from that certainty based upon societal expectations and/or opinions? It's hard for me to admit that this influences me, even though I stand solid in what I know is right for us.

It also got me thinking how, as collective parents, we let these external expectations drive our decision-making, our parenting choices and our family culture, all in an attempt "to do it right" or at least be perceived that we are. Unfortunately, we do this at the expense of listening to our own individual and family intuition about what feels right for us. It's all inherently rooted in a deep fear of failure.

Even though I firmly believe that failure is ESSENTIAL for progression and success, all the same, I don't want to be the one to fail my child. I don't want to be the one to look back and realize I made mistakes over and over again in decisions I made that irreversibly impacted my child's future. I don't want my kids to dislike me for the choices I made for them that came from deep love and what I thought was best. All of this is based out of and driven by FEAR.

There's a lot there. And I know this. I recognize that it's ultimately a cry for self-work. It's all stuff that is embedded, for one reason or another, in the cells of my body that I need to unpack and unravel for myself.

I speak daily in my work about trusting, believing and knowing you're right where you're meant to be. That all will be well. That if you trust in your divine spirit, you will find your way amidst the struggle and despair. That a huge part of the process is letting go. Letting go of control; letting go of fear and letting go of anything that doesn't serve you well on your unique journey. Yet, here I am...being consumed by these concerns and letting them occasionally drive my interactions with my children in a negative way.

Honestly, there are days when I'm confident about the path we've chosen and there are days when I think to myself "what the hell have I done?" But when I tap into my intuition - my personal truth which is ever unfolding - I know it's right. I still doubt. I still question. But I'm learning as I go. There's something really vulnerable and raw about learning as you go.

It's all an experiment, people. I don't know what I'm doing! But, that's what life is about anyway, right?

I makes sense to me to think that there's an inevitable fear and uncertainty in choosing to be really involved in every moment and choosing to feel, think and be challenged every step of the way, regardless of if it's welcomed or not. Odin's learning. Viggo's learning. But, I think I'm learning most of all.

In the end, I WILL NOT let fear rule me! I will not let it override my intuition. I will not let it silence what I KNOW in my heart to be true for us. And even though I don't own or dictate my children's truth - as it is theirs and theirs alone - I know if I listen to and follow my own truth I will be able to look back without regret. I'll be able to look my boys in the eyes and tell them every decision was made from deep-seeded love and the desire to give to them the opportunity to see and interpret, on their own, the purity and expansiveness of the world before them.

Let's release some of the pressure and be gentle on ourselves, folks. We're not put here on this Earth to teach them; we're put here on this Earth to learn from them. We're put on this Earth to love them and keep them safe in order that their inherent truth - their shining being - can unfold into the full and unyielding beauty that it already is. All on it's own. It just needs space to spread open and fully live with love and light. All we have to do is hold space.

It may not be perfect. It may not always be pretty. But, I know one thing - I'm fully capable of holding space. That's all we can do anyway, right? Because it was never my job to "make them become something" they were meant to be.

It was already there all along.

#commitment #Webster #Selfcare #harddays #Holdingspace #Parenting #Doubts