I’ve sat down and started several different posts again this morning. However, the words are blocked, thoughts jumbled, and my heart disinterested. At first, I thought it was because almost every room downstairs stands in chaos with the kitchen remodel, but even after creating a “clean spot”, I couldn’t settle myself.
I sat. I stared at my computer until my eyes blurred. Then, I realized what was niggling at me. My daughter, nearly 700 miles away at school, is growing weary. It’s that time in the semester when she can see the light at the end of tunnel, but there are still hurdles to clear. Weeks of late nights and the stress of papers and tests, not to mention being away from her bed and her family, are wearing on her resolve. Not so much she would ever consider throwing in the towel, but enough to leave her feeling vulnerable. Vulnerable to the doubts that come in the night. Those subtle voices that make you question your choices and wonder if you are enough. The kind that make you long for a mama’s hug.
The other day, she sent me text asking me to remind her she’s enough, just as she is. She had had a rough day. My heart broke. I wanted to jump on a plane and run to her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms as I did after a fall when she was small. I wanted to pull her back into the (supposed) safety of our four walls. And then, I remembered she isn’t the little girl on the playground; she is an almost full-grown woman learning to trust her wings. And, it’s when our wings are tested, we really learn how to fly.
We texted back and forth. I offered reassurance, but did not offer to fly her home. She didn’t need that. She needed a mama’s love and ears, but there was nothing to “be fixed.” She had had a bad day, and she did what any grown woman would do; she reached out to a trusted friend for some support. By the end of our texting conversation, I could tell she was feeling lighter, more confident, and so was I.
This morning, I re-read this post. I wrote it at the very beginning of my Transitioning Mom journey. I needed the reminder. Some days, I want to pull my “babies” in close, hold them in my arms, and protect from the hurts in the world. I imagine I will always have days like that. Most days, however, I will keep my eyes set on the amazing, and very capable, young women my daughters have become, and I will find the strength to let them both test and trust their wings. Because, there are few things more beautiful than watching your children soar.