Raising Kids or Raising Ourselves?

Where does the Child within us end and and the Grown-Up begin? And how can our own kids become mirrors in which we can truly see ourselves and gauge how much more growing we really have to do?

Soon it will be 9 years since I became a mother. It feels like just yesterday I was carrying her in my arms in the middle of the night, desperately trying to soothe her colic. Today, the pants I bought three months ago are too short, and the dress that was too long last summer barely reaches her knees. Today, I look in the mirror and see new grey hairs and wrinkles at the corners of my eyes—things I wouldn't even notice if it weren't for her, reminding me with every centimetre she grows that a little more life has passed.

Time changes us, adults, in subtle ways that are easy to overlook. Children seem to give us the true measure of its passing, always reminding us that we are no longer the same. But beyond the outward changes, there are others, much deeper, that you can’t see in the mirror. For nine years, I have honoured a lifelong commitment I made. I, who have always had (and still have) a visceral need for freedom, stepped into the only relationship in my life that I know is truly "until death do us part." My death, of course, because the alternative is unthinkable. And yet, the alternative is there, lurking at the edge of my consciousness, like a shadow I rarely dare to face, and when I do, the pain is instant and overwhelming.

The moment I decided to become a mother, I knew I was accepting the possibility of a pain beyond imagination. Of course, I hoped, and still hope, that I will never have to feel it, but the mere possibility of it constantly reminds me that I am nothing more than human: imperfect, vulnerable, full of fears and anxieties that I’m sure I didn’t feel as intensely when I had much less to lose. The absolute, unconditional love I feel for my child is both an enormous gift and a brutal measure of my fragility as a human being. At the same time, this love is perhaps the most precious foundation I can give her as she builds herself into a Person—someone who will be accompanied, lifted, and supported by a confident, solid sense of Self for the rest of her life, long after I’m no longer here to love her.

Sometimes, this child, who loves school and collects books, who is one of the most empathetic people I’ve ever met, who adores her friends and helps them in any way she can, who patiently explains things to younger children and dreams of becoming a teacher (or a vet or a herpetologist), who names every plant in the garden, saves every little bug and spider and cries for the fate of toys other kids leave behind in the park, puts me to the test. Would I accept her no matter what? Would I admire her more for making decisions that please me or judge her if she chooses something very different than I would? Do I need her too much? Would I lie to her just to take the fear away? Is my judgment sound enough?

"What if I didn’t want to go to college at all? What would you say?" "Nothing. I would cheer you on in finding a path that makes you happy and in building a life that has meaning for you."

"I’d like to get a PhD, become a researcher, and work to save endangered animals. What do you think?" "I’m sure if you persevere and are willing to work hard enough, you can do exactly what’s truly important to you."

"What if I didn’t want to have kids of my own? What would you say?" "Nothing. I’d respect your decision because you are the master of your own life, and you have the right to choose how to live it."

"What if I became a bad person and treated you badly? Would you still love me?" "Yes, I would love you. I wouldn’t accept your behaviour and would give you honest feedback, but I’d love you just as much."

"What if I killed someone? Would you still love me?" "Yes, I would love you no matter what. I’d be horrified by how something like that could happen, but my love for you would be the same."

"But if I didn’t exist, would you still have been happy?" "Yes, I would surely have been happy in a different way. I chose to invite a child into my life, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only good choice, nor that you’re my only source of happiness. I could have had a beautiful life in many other ways, and right now I have many other roles besides being your mother. I’m grateful that you’re here and I enjoy you and us immensely, and at the same time, there are many other things in my life that matter deeply to me—my work, my friends, my parents, your father—my beloved."

"I will never leave you and Daddy. I want to always be close to you." "I believe you’ll leave when the time comes, and our most important job is to help you think for yourself, have the confidence to go as far as you want, and the courage to find your way even when you get lost. We’ll be here whenever you want to come back, and at the same time, it’s okay if you don’t want to be that close to your parents anymore. You’ll have many other incredibly important people in your life besides us."

"I don’t want you to die." "I know. No one wants to be separated from the people they love. But death is a part of life, and we can’t run from it."

"But can you promise me you’ll live for a very long time?" "I can only promise that I’ll take care of myself as much as I can to be healthy and live as long as possible. But no one can promise they’ll live a long life - that’s not within our control."

"Please brush your teeth before we finish reading the last chapter of this book."
"But I want to brush my teeth after we finish reading. Why do you want me to brush them now?"
"Because I want you to be ready for bed when we finish reading."
"But that doesn’t really make sense - I’ll be ready for bed even if I brush my teeth after we read. I want to brush them at the end because if I do it now, I’ll rush through it thinking about the book waiting for me. If I do it after, I’ll do it properly, without rushing. What do you think? Is my argument stronger than yours?"
"Hmm, I think your argument is indeed stronger. I agree, you can brush your teeth afterwards."

No one has ever asked me these questions, and probably no one other than her ever will. She has become my most rigorous ‘self-awareness coach’—constantly forcing me to observe myself and see myself from the outside—whether I like what I discover or not.

From her, I’ve learned so much about my need for control, which often hides the fear of losing loved ones, and how I sometimes take away their freedom to temporarily shield myself from the spectre of suffering. From her, I’m learning the courage to love with all my heart and let go, even when my heart shrinks in fear. She’s teaching me how to make peace with this overwhelming sense of vulnerability, and she helps me discover the humility of accepting that, no matter what I do, I cannot protect her from the challenges life will throw her way.

She also helps me see how limited my perspective is and how irrational some of my beliefs are. From her, I’ve learned to love myself a little more, to forgive myself when I make mistakes (and how often I make them!), to question my truths, and to ask myself more often: “But why do you want to do this thing, precisely in this way, right at this very moment? What’s your argument?” She reminds me that I cannot avoid confronting the fragility of life, that contemplating death isn’t morbid at all—it’s a way to make peace with impermanence and be more present here and now.

We often talk about how we “raise kids” and how to “raise them better,” but we don’t talk enough about how they raise us if we let them show us the way to those dark corners within ourselves - the very ones we’re most afraid to look at. I believe it’s very hard to see ourselves from the outside, and our children’s eyes (or the eyes of the children in our lives, because you don’t have to be a parent to learn from children) may be some of the clearest (and hardest to face) mirrors that life gives us. Children haven’t yet learned to censor their questions or hide their emotions, and their reactions to us are a constant invitation to turn inward and reflect deeply. They compel us to do the hard work of growth that tears us down and rebuilds us from the inside out, transforming us into a more mature and self-aware version of ourselves.

Recently, alongside my friend, Valerie Livesay, I have been working on our fist developmental course for parents and educators - Growing Humans: How Raising Children Raises Us - through which we aim to make this inner work visible, tangible and practical - offering it to parents, grandparents, uncles/aunts, teachers/educators, and any other adults who, in any role, support the growth of children. I deeply believe (and there is solid scientific evidence) that our inner growth never ends, and I also believe that our evolution toward greater wisdom has a direct and immediate impact on the growth of the children in our care.

I believe that beyond any parenting techniques—which are extremely useful in guiding us on what to do or say in various situations—lies our own maturity, and that maturity is not a given. It is a muscle we can systematically strengthen, and unfortunately, there aren’t many “gyms” for this type of training. Together with Valerie, I hope to create such a “gym”—a place where adults can read, listen to, or go through learning programs where the focus isn’t on “what to do” but on “how to be” in relation to the little (or bigger) humans we’re helping raise.

I hope we gather as many as possible in this “gym” to learn about ourselves from one another and through the eyes of our children. As for me, I know for sure I still have so much to learn.

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