I was volunteering at an animal rescue recently, wandering through pastures with a pitchfork in hand. Two younger women, ages 17 and 21 were with me, the older of the two driving the “gater,” a motorized piece of farming equipment that hauls manure and soiled animal bedding. The two of them were cheerfully discussing their complaints about their mothers. They traded stories back and forth, verbally jousting to see whose mom had committed the most unforgiveable parenting act. They alternatively shrieked and gasped at accounts of moms comparing them unfavorably to their siblings, disparaging them for dropping out of college, and generally denigrating them for their life decisions.
I did not add to the conversation. I just scanned the pasture for horse poop and hustled over to scoop it up, at times joking about manure imbedded in mud, which increases the weight and effort required by at least two-fold.
It was tough to listen to their banter and harder still to avoid commenting.
Some of their stories were disturbing, and some, I suspect, would be less so if I knew the context and possible youthful exaggeration. But if their renditions were basically accurate, then my heart breaks for these young women – and for their mothers, as well. These bright and rebellious young adults are finding footage in their lives socially, educationally, and vocationally, and missteps are inevitable. From their parents’ perspective, it might be that their kids’ trajectories are disappointing and maybe even wrenching. It is difficult to watch your children make choices that could have lifelong unpleasant repercussions. At least that is the fear we have as parents.
If my co-volunteers had asked my opinion, I am not sure how I would have responded. I would have acknowledged their pain without commenting on their mothers’ conduct, I suppose. Maternal angst is certainly not an excuse for hurtful and toxic behavior. But at the heart of every unkind or abusive parental action is an adult who probably suffered at the hand of his or her own parents. A wounded child can easily wind up being a damaged adult.
What I might also have told these young women is that we are not trained in mothering, and the mistakes we make fill us with regret. For most of us, raising our children is the single-most important task of our lifetimes. It fills us with terror and dismay - and joy beyond articulation. We think we know what is best for our children, but we are often wrong. Fear prevents us from acknowledging that the growth of our offspring is dependent on letting go of the belief that we can shelter them from the repercussions of their decision making. We spend years striving to be balanced, patient, thoughtful, and forgiving, but we often fall short, blundering our way through unknown terrain. But our children’s happiness is at the core of everything we do.
Parenting, and being parented, is a muddy, and sometimes poopy, pathway.