Five weeks ago I wrote, “No awards for my teens” (click the title to read). It was a celebration of my daughter as she finished her freshman year. She’d had a hard spring semester. Failing four of six classes. But she’d signed up for summer school and was ready to work hard to improve her grades.
Today marks one week and she’ll be done.
I wish I could write about how glamorous the past weeks have been. I wish I could share how she’s done her work with ease. How she’s gotten up early to avoid rushing to meet deadlines. How she’s put school first and relaxing second. But I can’t. Because the last five weeks have been full of everything but those things.
It’s been one of the most challenging summers of my life.
And so, I write about it. For you and for me. Because there’s no doubt you’ve been through or will go through something similar. And when you do, you’ll want to give up. You’ll want to yell and scream. You’ll want to wish it away. And argue with it. And tell life it’s not fair. Cause you don’t want to spend your summer this way – studying the carbon cycle and calculating the volume of a cone that fits perfectly in a cylinder. And still, it’s what you’ll do. Day in and day out. Offering help when she needs it. Teaching the skills she lacks. Sacrificing your schedule for hers. Until you see in an email from her teacher that she’s missing assignments and has permanent zeroes. Then you’ll lose it! Yep, that’s the moment you’ll snap and feel like you’re going to explode. Or die. Or yell at everyone in sight. So you’ll flee to the local frozen yogurt shop and drown your frustrations in a bowl of creamy chocolate and salted caramel yogurt smothered in mini-gummi bears and crunchy M&M’s. You’ll sit alone. In your car. Indulging. Bite after bite wondering how you got there and where you went wrong.
But, my friend, you need to know, you haven’t gone wrong. This is the moment you need to realize that everything is actually going right. Just like I did.
Teaching teenagers valuable life skills can be thankless work. For weeks I’ve done everything in my power to be invested but not attached. Available but not hovering. Encouraging but not fake. Finding a balance that’s worked for both of us has been tiring. There have been moments she’s felt incapable and stressed. When this happens she avoids summer school and shuts down. She curls up in a ball in the corner of her room. No device. Pitch dark. Arms wrapped around her legs, holding her ankles, head bowed to her knees. It’s in these moments when I’ve found her that my mind spins out, ‘Why can’t she just do the work? Why can’t she ask for help? Why won’t she use her words? I have so much to do. I don’t have time for this!’ Immediately I’m annoyed and overwhelmed. But luckily I’m keenly aware of it so I breathe intently through my nose and out my mouth. ‘It’s ok,’ I remind myself. ‘She’s trying to figure this out. You can help her.’ Feeling calm again, I sit quietly in front of her. I affirm I know how challenging summer school is. That it sucks and it’s boring and lame and repetitious and has ridiculous projects. I affirm it all and then I tell her she’s not alone. That I’m here for her. That there’s nothing she can’t do. I stare into her eyes and hold her face as I tell her of my abiding love for her. I ask her to borrow my belief until she has her own. She starts to cry. She melts as the emotions begin to seep out of her. I realize she’s hanging on to so much that’s weighing her down and keeping her from succeeding. She cries and cries as I hold her and remind her that I see her, I love her, and I’m here for her. Always. Slowly, we find our way to the computer and she gets back doing her school work.
We’ve repeated this pattern many, many times over the last five weeks. It’s been a battle of ups and downs. 100’s and 0’s. Meeting deadlines and missing them. I’ve canceled clients and dropped projects. Laundry sits unfolded in baskets. Emails long to be read and replied to. And still, I know that everything’s going right. Not because everything is perfect and finished and A’s are secured, but because I’m showing up. I’m showing up like a mom that knows the greatest service she offers her daughter is to not give up on her. No matter what. No matter how often she curls up in the corner and begs to fail. No matter how much she pushes back, slacks off, or falls behind. I will not leave her. I will teach and remind and repeat until it sinks in. Until she no longer has to borrow my belief because she’s found her own.
So, yes, my friend, I almost lost it on Monday when I saw that email from her teacher. But then I thought, ‘This is NOT a moment that’s meant to break you. It’s not a stumbling block or hurdle you can’t overcome. It’s not here to crush you or slow your forward progress. This moment is meant to shape you. It’s an opportunity to grow and learn and become. For you and for her. Grab it. Take it. And make it happen.’
Tonight I am the sum of many accumulated moments. Days when I haven’t showered or left the house. Days when all I’ve done is help calculate trig functions. Days when she could care less about the percent change in volume. These are the moments that have tried me, pushed me to my absolute breaking point, and still, they’ve refined me into more of who I want to be. The past five weeks have not been easy or glamorous, but they have drawn me closer to my daughter. (And she’s acquired skills and beliefs she didn’t have five weeks ago, but that’s another email. ????) My repeated efforts to show up, love, and teach have created a deeper connection between us. If you’re like me and you’re doing all the ‘moming’ things, know you’re doing it right. And it’s ok to get maxed out. You’re a human. A human that’s invested in raising a teenager. And raising a teenager well.
Kudos to you for being there and believing in your teen. I see you, my friend. Keep going. I promise you’re making a difference.
