This post recently appeared on my friend Kathryn's most-excellent blog,
Our Chateau. (If you're looking for another good blog to start reading, I'd highly recommend this one.) She'd asked for guest posts on what people were grateful for, and
this was my submission.
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I'm grateful for perspective.
2012 was the blessed year I became a parent to my radiant little girl, Emma Jane. She's six months old now, napping again while I patch this quilt of paragraphs together with the bits of 'free time' that are scattered about my day. I'm intentionally ignoring the toys cluttered around me, the dishes in the sink and the laundry in the hamper... If I were to stand right next to those things they'd seem like important tasks, but from this angle - this perspective, I can see what it more important in this moment. I need to write this down.
Last night as I breathed in the sweet air around Emma's downy head, I realized that parenthood has granted me a new lens with which to view the world. This isn't news to anyone. Even those who aren't yet parents know what a life-changing event parenthood is. But it's still something of a shock when you feel it for yourself, from the perspective of someone living it. There's the first moment you see yourself in a mirror, sleep-deprived and desperate, using the bathroom at warp-speed knowing that soon the child will wake and demand to catch sight of you. The countless times you doubt yourself (and even cry) because your wailing baby doesn't respond to whatever the parenting book tells you "works every time". And that look your own parents give you when they drop by to check on you -- that look of concern, understanding, love... and a suppressed laugh. (Yeah, I'm sure my mom bit her tongue a few times. I appreciate it.) You're constantly doubting yourself, "Am I doing this right?" And your whole life becomes a research project as you collect data on what works, what doesn't, what used to work, what only works sometimes... You even find yourself asking any parent who will tell you about sleeping habits, feeding habits, growth charts and methodology. It's exhausting.
But the rewards! Oh, isn't your child's smile the greatest return on investment you've ever seen? That sweet girl beams at me when I walk into the room. She chirps with glee when her father comes in the door. I scoop her up and kiss her cheek. One of her outstretched hands clasps my neck and the other twirls gently into my hair, admiring the strands as they catch the light. I wonder at her perspective: what does she think about the world around her? Then she looks right into my eyes and smiles. She is just all love. And I feel awesome. Her smile makes me feel confident and happy, sure that I am doing a great job. In that moment, I know I'm the best mom for Emma.
This new perspective I have -- it's not mine. It's Emma's. The way she sees me is what has changed my life view.
It's human nature to be self-critical. Our culture tells us to use our new-year perspective to look back on our failures and make promises to be better. To be more like those we admire. "I wish I took the time to write like she does." "I wish I could love running like he does." "I wish I could be as fit/thin/organized/
adventurous/studious/
methodical..." As teachers, we tell our students not to compare their progress to others because, among other things, it can be damaging to their self-worth. But we adults allow ourselves to do it all the time! I often admonish myself for mistakes I've made in the past. Mistakes that still burn my cheeks with hot embarrassment, make me check what I say to coworkers and how I act with friends. It's easy to continually criticize ourselves if we allow ourselves to. But have you ever decided to borrow some one else's perspective to look at yourself? How many times have you rejected a compliment? Down-played someone's praise? Minimized your own accomplishments with immediate reflection on what you didn't achieve? Too many. Too often. What if our children did the same with our praise? How would we feel if they didn't trust that we are truly proud of them, or believe our assertions that they are talented, capable, beautiful beings?
Last night, I realized that part of parenthood is learning to honor my daughter's perspective of me. I need to believe that her love for me provides her with an honest lens. I need to trust that my devotion to her, my ever-burning desire to do right by her, is enough. Whatever mistakes I've made can be forgiven because they make me work to be a good mother and a better version of myself. I need to see that she is happy because I continually strive to live up to her view of me, to see myself as she sees me. Parenthood is a demanding and difficult job, from any perspective. Fortunately, if we allow ourselves the time to look for it, we can easily find praise for a job well done. From my perspective, true joy comes when I've earned another grin, another giggle, another hand pressed lovingly against my cheek.
