"All Better" & Falling

When I skinned my knee growing up, my mom would clean up my wound, put a band-aid on it, and give me a hug and a kiss to "make it all better."

I did the same thing for my kids when they were little, giving them comfort when they were hurt and sad. How easy that seemed to be--almost the easiest part of parenting. Providing comfort is easier than setting boundaries and saying no to the candy aisle. It is easier than bedtime. It is easier than teaching table manners or how to ride a bike, though riding a bike is one way kids get skinned knees in the first place.

Then they grow up. When they skid out emotionally, I so badly want to be able to make it all better, to make the pain go away, to help them avoid suffering. Life isn't designed that way, without out conflict (inner or outer) or turmoil or stress. They have to learn on their own to handle stress and challenges.

This is the hardest lesson I've had in parenting--allowing my kids to fail, allowing them to feel their own pain, to feel the consequences of their own actions. It is hard to believe that all of that is necessary for parenting. When kids fall, they need to pick themselves up, whether they are toddlers or eighteen. This doesn't mean we as parents are heartless monsters, watching them struggle. Growth is in the struggle. Struggle builds resilience. Resilience means they can bounce back when they fall again. It means they know they can pick themselves back up, that they are confident they can pull out of a tailspin.

As much as I love riding my paddleboard, I don't know how to get back on it if I fell off. I've watched a YouTube video where I watched how to get back on, but I paddle such that I don't fall in.

This is bullshit. 

I need to fall in in a safe and shallow-ish spot and figure out how to get back on the board. I would be a braver and more confident paddleboard without the low-grade fear I have of falling in.

Sports can be a good teacher, but sometimes those lessons aren't as transferable to regular life as one would think. Sometimes we can fall skiing, on a bike or off a paddleboard and get back up, but when life hands us lumps at school or at work, we might struggle infinitely more than we did on the mountain or on the lake. 

Why?

Why does fear vary so much? Why can someone feel safe on the mountain but not at a desk? 

I don't know. Today, I have no answers. Only questions. 

I guess the answer is there is no answer. I can't take away their pain or struggles, but I can listen. I can be the quiet person in the back while they process and think and feel, not necessarily in that order. I can bear witness, and help them feel less alone in the struggle. I can tell them I have confidence in them, even when they don't have confidence in themselves.