Motherhood is one of those things in life I endeavored to be excellent at. I meant it so much, that prior to my youngest turning one, I was front row at an annual Mom’s Conference on ‘professionalizing motherhood’ with notepads, highlighters and my very best intentions. Subsequently, it became my mission to ‘get it right’ so well, that once home from the 3 hour drive to my second annual Mom’s conference; with the vision of another mom- we decided to start our own chapter. A mom’s group which has now flourished across the city of Chicago and raised up incredible young adults of integrity. Small groups of women, who came together weekly to learn from each other’s shared experiences…with the commitment to grow together, do life together and raise remarkable children.
One of the most heartbreaking things I learned at my first conference was from a mother who was an empty nester. Her guidance was ‘your job as a mother is to do your job so well, that your daughters will leave you someday.’ Sort of felt like a backwards notion. After all, I had never known a love that lived so deeply and wide inside of me. What I couldn’t yet grasp and accept, was the inevitable flight my babies would eventually have to take…towards their own paths.
Divorce is a brutal experience. I barely survived mine, yet managed a seemingly grace filled rebuild of our world. Clawing myself back to some semblance of emotional, psychological and financial stability was a decade long journey…during which there were many dark nights. Many of which, my only solace and inspiration were my daughters sweet, fleshy faces.
Just as the silver linings began to emerge, a decade after my divorce and when my daughters were 2 years from adulthood ages…I was blindsided and sued for custody. They no longer wanted to live with me…the mama bear who carried us safely through the forest. My sweet angels were now wanting to live with their father. I did what any mama bear would- and fought with every might in my 5ft being-the lawyers, the systems, the judges. I would spend a small fortune to the verge of bankruptcy to hold on to my family. To no avail…as they were almost adults and had rights to want what they wanted. And devastatingly, it was no longer a home with me.
To say that since, I’ve felt this was the most colossal failure I’ve ever known…is a gross understatement. While I realize there inevitably comes a time when our babies grow up, and leave the nest- I always romanticized it being a transition filled with love, poetry and tears of joy. Instead, ours was one of trauma and deep woundedness. Possibly and mostly, my own.
The other day, I stopped into a spa- owned by the cutest little mama. She runs it with her 2 daughters, who are similar in age to mine. I made an appointment for the following day and left in tears as I wondered to myself, ” is that where I went wrong? Would I have been able to make them stay with me/make them happy if only I had presence of mind to start a business we could work at together.” I went home and felt more sorry for myself, that I hadn’t been more clever, that I couldn’t solve or fix the rocky trajectory of my family.
Date night the following evening, was with the adorable family of the 3 of them- as they convinced me to do fancy designs on my nails, and told me their story. I told them how adorable they were, and how smart their mom was. How I so envied that they worked together, and were together so well…and that I wished I had been as clever as their mom. When I told them my girls were their same ages, they told me they thought I was a little girl myself. Then asked where my girls were. In shame, I admitted ‘they wanted to live with their father, and were no longer with me.’ To which their mom quickly retorted- ” so do they.” The girls went on to explain, there came an age when they couldn’t live with their mom anymore. They needed/wanted to be on their own. They hadn’t lived with her for almost seven years- and spent a few years living with their dad by choice. I stared at them, then at their mom with a stunned look on my face.
I asked if she fought for custody…she said ‘no.’ She explained, she realized she had to let them go, so they could find their own path. She explained that she refused to fight him and instead just let them go. She went on to say they needed to find their own independence & have their own life experiences. “They’ll get it honey, they will see, ” she assured me. And her beautiful, giggly girls confirmed. I was fighting back the tears now, as she draped silver gel designs across my nails…”when I stopped in the other day, I left feeling so low and defeated. I looked at your story and assumed it was polar opposite of my own.” I thanked her for sharing her story with me.
Her youngest daughter, who is the same age as mine told me that living on her own is something she loves and needed for herself. She whispered ” I heard you talking to my mom, your girls are lucky to have a mom like you and that she now understands what she couldn’t see/didn’t know before.”
I had been carrying such shame because I perceived my daughters premature flight…as the greatest failure of my life. What I never stopped to consider…maybe they were just ready before I was. Perhaps their lives and worlds aren’t meant to perfectly align to my own. It had not occurred to me ever…that letting go was exactly the thing I was supposed to do…
I suppose there was a picture in my head and heart, of what our perfect family story looked like. I considered the brokenness of our story to be tragic, and shameful. What a gift it was, to see how very wrong I was about something. Looking into their sweet smiling faces, I was relieved to see how very beautiful brokenness can be. I’m grateful to have let the self judgement and scrutiny that felt so heavy for so long on the inside…out.
I left feeling lighter, closer to my self and my daughters. The script I had been living under, was…is all wrong. Now I see, our stories have only just begun.
We are all broken some places on the inside…we mustn’t allow shame or any narrative we’ve created towards illusive perfection… to convince us that our imperfections aren’t supposed to be integral parts of our beautiful struggles.