relatively speaking
August 13, 2014 § 2 Comments
I am my father’s daughter, my son’s mother; these titles entangle creating uncomfortable places of exaggerated awareness. In my son’s discomfort and my father’s discontent there are images of self I cannot disclaim.
I wear my father’s disappointment for my imperfections with the same uncertainty I worry over my son’s otherness; I offer both empathy and anxiety with mixed messages of acceptance and expectation. I measure success against a standard that suffocates bravery and avoid failure at the cost of success.
I push against the confinement of inadequacy with words of encouragement for unique qualities that define individuality while marking opportunities to evolve into an ideal expression of self. Despite the careful balance of words, I hear the caution of counsel that contradicts the spirit of celebration.
These thoughts, unfinished and untidy, have sat here unattended in a draft that seems to dangle uncertainly demanding attention. Wading into discomfort I am untangling my doubts least I mistake my faults with my son’s needs or my father’s fears.
scribblechic 
Avoiding failure at the cost of success–oh my, this is big in my family. We were criticized when something was not perfect so you got to the point where you only tried the things you had scads of natural talent for–and that list is quite limited. I tell my boys to make mistakes often and proudly. I hope it sticks.
I worry that the temptation to conform to outside standards is more problematic as my son forges a path from high school to college. I hear the ghosts of old insecurities in conversations that juggle college admissions in the same context as high school electives. Four years seems too great a span of time to overlook the value of curiosity in place of certainty. For now I continue to emphasize the importance of error and effort over success and accolade.
I know we share this new milestone and I am grateful for your voice and values as enter the high school years of motherhood. Thank you.