Letting go - Part 1

I've heard that one of the hardest parts of parenthood/parenting is learning to let go.  Children need us the absolute most during their time in the womb - they are the most dependent on us, for everything, in this phase of life.  At birth, they first gain the ability to breathe independently.... then moment by moment they begin the rapid process of growing and acclimating to this world, taking steps away from their parents as they develop the skills they need for an independent life. 

My daughter Hazel, is about to turn 15 months old.  My sweet girl.  More and more, I see these signs of independence as she attempts to do things on her own, whether she can actually do them or not.  With each new accomplishment, I am so proud of her.  AND, I can already tell that perhaps one of my most important jobs as a parent is to navigate this letting go process.... to go from doing absolutely everything for her at the start, and allowing her day by day to do more on her own as she gains competence, knowledge, and ability.  Perhaps my most notable "real world" moment of this letting go lesson to date, was sometime last week. (I am aware that I will have a million trillion more lessons in this, probably continuously, for the rest of my life). 

Hazel began walking with regularity about 2 months ago.  Her confidence has increased, and she moves quickly and fearlessly in our home.  However, when we began to go outside and walk on the pavement (or the grass or another unfamiliar surface), Hazel did not move.  Not one step.  It was like her tiny feet were frozen blocks of ice in her newly purchased hot pink shoes.  Kneeling down at her level, I would encourage her, telling her it was okay to move.  To take that step.  That I would be here if she wobbled, or tripped, or fell down.  She would look at me with a smirk, but her feet and legs remained firmly planted.  Until I reached out and took her hand.  Then she would feel free to walk and roam and squeal with abandon, taking in the sights and smells of the great outdoors. 

Although I hated to see her paralyzed by her fear, there was a secret temporary comfort I took in knowing that she wouldn't move unless I held her hand in mine. That she wouldn't be in danger.  However, she has been getting more comfortable being outside each day.  Last week she decided that she was no longer afraid of the concrete beneath her feet, and she took off. 

For a moment, I panicked... I  followed behind her so closely, fighting the urge to stop her altogether. "What if she falls?!"  I thought.  "What if she gets scraped up, or bleeds, or worse?"  My mind raced as I tried to center myself.  And then, the other side of my brain spoke up and said, "Stefanie - you just have to let her run.  Let her go.  What happens will happen.  You won't always be there to protect her.  This is how she will learn.  This is an important part of her growth process, and you need to step out of the way." 

Hazel, of course, was fine. (She would have been fine even if she HAD fallen and gotten banged up - which she didn't.  This time).   I, however, was introduced to the panic I am positive I will feel many times over as my little girl grows and runs and explores and falls and hurts.  I will likely fight this internal battle over and over, as thoughts of my sweet little one in pain - physical or emotional - just rips my heart from my chest, tears it in half, and stomps all over it. 

And I'm reminded of a story that my friend, colleague, and dance company director told me about his now almost five-year old daughter.  He told me that he used to put his arm out in front of her, just in case, as she walked down the stairs in their home.  One day they, as usual, walked down the stairs and he - out of habit and that fierce internal nature to protect - put his arm out.  And she said to him something to the effect of, "No, Daddy.  No.  No be careful.  I fall down, I get boo boo.  I be okay." 

Phew.  What a wise, brave soul.  In such a tiny body. 

Because no parent, no person, no hero can protect the ones we love from the pain we will feel in this life.  To live is to grow, to grow is to hurt, to hurt is to heal, and to heal is how we carry on.  And what an important lesson for a child to learn.  What an important skill for my precious child to develop - to fall down, to hurt, to learn to stand up again. To learn how to cope with all the ups and downs life will bring.  To carry on.   

So... I will work on this letting go thing.  I will work on standing out of the way.   I will hurt when she hurts, and I will pick her up when she falls.  And she will be okay.   And I will be, too.   

All things considered,  it won't be easy.  But necessary -  indeed.