I was twisted up about this weekend's visit to my son at his college apartment. He’s adulting now, but is he doing it in the right way? (Before you roll your eyes, yes, I already know this is an unsupportive and unfair question. Who am I to define how anyone else adults??)
The truth is, I’m not really very confident that my 20-year-old son is capably keeping his house clean, cooking for himself, and managing his bills. After all, I have evidence of problems. The last time we visited there was the rotten, rancid sponge he used to clean the counters. The fridge was empty except for expired cottage cheese and a limp carrot. There were unpaid bills on the counter and considerable piles of crumbs on the floor. And I know, I know, these are small things and the natural consequences of all these things are not too big for him to bear. They do not signal incompetence or poor decisions.
My real concerns: is he building relationships with people who care about him? Is he taking care of his health? Is he making smart decisions about how he spends his time? (Grades in college are honestly less important to me than becoming independent, managing his relationships, and taking care of his health. Cs indeed do get degrees).
These are the things I want to support, not the status of his kitchen. And yet I can’t help but look around for evidence of the markers of struggle.
Who do I want to be when I visit and what version of me does he want and need in his life now?
I was talking to a friend about my worries on a hike a few days before the visit and she said, “Why don’t you go as Vacation Mom?” Well, I know who Vacation Mom is, and she really isn’t me, because I organize, plan, and worry everywhere I go. Instead, she is easygoing, focused on fun, unconcerned with lack of structure and things left undone. She buys sugar cereal. She rolls her eyes at people like me, worrying over whether a kid will get hurt wakeboarding or climbing a tree.
So, we arrive at the apartment, and right away, like a compulsion, I feel the urge to look in drawers, lint roll the couch, scrub the toilet, check the fridge. (I surreptitiously did check the fridge and did see some things of minor concern, but a trip to the store took care of that.)
But I did not clean, cook, or even make it upstairs to his bedroom. I did not take out the overflowing trash.
I sat. I talked to him. I listened. I did not DO anything. I watched him make us a steak, prepare a Caesar salad, and sauté mushrooms. Then I watched him clean it all up. (He did set off the firm alarm, but the steak was perfectly cooked).
Now, I’ll gleefully admit that my husband had more trouble than I did: he tried to repair a nail hole (was denied), he gave advice about how to reduce the electric bill (was ignored), and he fixed the clogged drain in the bathroom sink (was allowed). And my son got annoyed. He snapped at us. He was well aware we were looking and seeing and fussing, and he felt judged in that.
He said 'You gotta stop looking for things to fix, Dad."
Fair. And age appropriate. And a loud invitation to back off.
What our college kids need right now
I already spent 18 years orchestrating, advising, guiding, and planning. I helped with the college transition and I was a large part of getting all the stuff for his new apartment. Maybe, even, I overfunctioned. We can call that one. And now I need a freaking break, and my son does too.
Yes, my son is doing some things that really concern me. But what I’ve learned in recent weeks is that unless he is hurting himself financially, mentally, or physically, I need to pretend to not notice the thing he’s doing.
I need to let him manage it all.
It’s not that I should be hard on myself for worrying or try to stop; instead I should pause when I’m worried, acknowledge it, decide if I need to actually do anything, and if not (usually not), work to let it go. I need new skills to manage my worry because I can no longer let him see it.
Because he feels judged when we notice the dirty floor and fuss and fret over the unchecked mail. He said, out loud, that it feels like a total lack of confidence on our part. That we don’t trust him to take care of his own business.
That’s sad because if I DO open my eyes to it, I can see that he’s a competent, self-motivated, well informed kid adult. He just doesn't do things the way we would. I have to trust he will come to us if he really doesn’t know how to do something. He did ask me how he could set up a telehealth appointment this weekend—that’s a good sign in a couple ways.
I will always peek through my hands so I can be ready to catch him if he falls; but he needs the chance to catch himself first.
He says, on repeat, “I got this mom.”
I think now I can actually hear that, and after eating that perfect steak, I can work on replacing my worry with pride.
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