I FaceTimed my son last week and within 4 minutes I had mentally assessed his health, his level of anxiety, whether he was hanging out with friends enough, how he was doing in his classes, and whether I should be concerned that he seemed unconcerned about any of it.
You know, just a casual chat with Mom.
I’d called because I needed to see him and know he was ok. I was feeling that bad vibe associated with not knowing. I peppered him with questions, all while being kind of aware I should stop. Part of me needed him to say, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got this.” Or even better “Mom, I’m aware that these 14 things aren’t perfect in my life and I’m working through them in a mature, adult way.” I needed assurance so I could stop worrying.
I’ve known for a long time that my emotional state depends a lot—too much—on how he’s doing. Or how I THINK he’s doing.
He seems happy? Great! Now I’m good and I can go have a good day.
He’s struggling? Now I’m spinning out, worried, texting a friend, and working out what I should do next.
Caring versus carrying
There is a huge difference between caring about and supporting my son, versus needing him to be okay so I can be okay. The former is empathy. The latter is a problem that costs me my own equilibrium. Also, my need for reassurance pushes my son away: it is needy, annoying, and intrusive (jeez, all those questions).
He’s an adult living in another state which means I am neither his main confidante anymore nor a full-time part of his emotional life. It’s a new parenting role I’m not adjusting to very quickly.
I don’t blame myself: moms necessarily carry their child’s wellbeing for a long time. When he was little and something was wrong, I was almost always able to DO something. If he was sick, I would take care of him. If another kid was harassing him at school, I would make a call. When his hamster/lizard/fish died, I would comfort him.
But now he needs to handle his own disappointment, heartbreak, and anxiety. He will have difficult emotions and be in difficult situations, but I should not be taking them on. He has the skills. I think. I hope? But the point is, I am not there with the box of bandaids anymore.
It's time for me to care about what he’s going through but not carry it alongside him.
Well shit. This doesn’t work for my mommy heart or my biology. Separating my wellbeing from his is very hard. There’s plenty of potential harm for me to worry about: he still hasn’t gotten that motorbike registered and insured. He’s still working out too much and I’m worried that he’s not eating enough. And he’s tangling with that girl who broke his heart badly in early summer.
Working on the scaredy-est part of me
There is a very active part of me who I call Terrified Mom. My son had an illness that took the whole family out for about 4 years, and I carry that trauma with me still. She worries, because that feels productive. She researches things to understand and to be able to give advice. Her own nervous system is triggered when something dangerous or sad or uncomfortable is happening to her son. She does not feel ok unless he’s ok. And worse, if she doesn’t worry or help, something terrible will happen and it will be her fault. Terrified Mom exists for a good reason, but I need her to back down so I can live the next phase of my life and let my son live his without emotional interference.
So, this is what I’m working on:
Pausing when I’m triggered. Acknowledging it. Noticing my default reaction: worry, fear, texting a lot, looking at his socials. Calming myself down with deep breaking or a short walk. Then, asking myself if there is something I need to do: never, now, or later.
That’s all in the moment, but I also am choosing—intentionally, every day—how I want to show up.
I want to be empathetic and supportive (always) and an adviser (only when asked). I want to be the person whom he can always count on to love him no matter what and be a steady emotional presence.
I want to say “That’s so hard” and “I’m sorry you’re going through that” instead of “You’re stressing me out” or “I’m terribly worried about you.”
Sometimes I can do it.
Yesterday we talked for 40 minutes, and I didn't assess a single thing. We talked at length about comparison shopping for meat. He asked me about our family recipe for spaghetti. He told me about the pumpkin patch he went to and how much he was enjoying his job. I didn’t ask about the motorbike or the girl because why ask a question if I know it will trigger me?
I hung up feeling lighter than I did the last time we talked.
Terrified Mom will show up again; she always does. But my son needs a lot less from me now. Some days I do feel sad about that. Maybe the distance growing naturally between us will protect me emotionally. (I can't react to and carry his emotions if I don't know about them, right?)
But I can deeply care about every little thing he experiences and, if and when I do feel compelled to ride along with him emotionally, I can intentionally put down what was never mine to carry. I’ll be here with a recipe and a good ear, and I'll try to keep the questions to myself.
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