I want my mommy!
That’s how I feel sometimes. Not often, but in times of crisis, for sure. When you’re a grown-up and you fall, sometimes you need more than a Band-Aid. Lately I’ve been wondering, do we ever stop needing our parents?
I’ve been a mother for 15 years now, applying Band-Aids to my own kids’ scrapes and cuts and soothing their worries and fears. The ironic thing is that as we get older, we’re supposed to need our parents less, but our cuts are sometimes deeper and our worries get bigger.
My son Julian is in middle school, that time when he is no longer a little kid, but not yet a teenager. I feel like I’m in a middle stage too. I have all of the responsibilities of an adult and mother, but sometimes I want my parents to take care of me and tell me everything will be OK.
As long as you can still feel like a child, there’s a feeling of security. Thankfully, I haven’t lost a parent yet, but I’ve read that when you do, you realize your separateness all over again.
That’s how I feel sometimes. Not often, but in times of crisis, for sure. When you’re a grown-up and you fall, sometimes you need more than a Band-Aid. Lately I’ve been wondering, do we ever stop needing our parents?
I’ve been a mother for 15 years now, applying Band-Aids to my own kids’ scrapes and cuts and soothing their worries and fears. The ironic thing is that as we get older, we’re supposed to need our parents less, but our cuts are sometimes deeper and our worries get bigger.
My son Julian is in middle school, that time when he is no longer a little kid, but not yet a teenager. I feel like I’m in a middle stage too. I have all of the responsibilities of an adult and mother, but sometimes I want my parents to take care of me and tell me everything will be OK.
As long as you can still feel like a child, there’s a feeling of security. Thankfully, I haven’t lost a parent yet, but I’ve read that when you do, you realize your separateness all over again.
Our ultimate fear is that we really are alone. That realization of being separate from our parents happens at other ages too, like when a baby discovers his hands or feet for the first time and is surprised that he is actually separate from his mother’s body. Or like when a toddler or preschooler has separation anxiety when she is dropped off at daycare of preschool for the first time.
I think I went through adult separation anxiety this past year. You see, my parents moved from New Jersey to Texas two years ago following my older brother’s move out there. If that wasn’t enough to unhinge me, my last living grandparent, and the one I was always closest to, moved to Texas. Then, my younger brother moved to Miami.
This big change in our family forced me into that middle stage, perhaps a little younger than some people experience it. I felt my separateness from my parents, because even though my parents are still alive and well, they are at least 3,000 miles away and cannot be here to provide any sort of safety net or support. They aren’t here to attend my kids’ concerts or birthday parties. They aren’t here to help me if I’m sick. They aren’t here to babysit or pick me up if my car breaks down. I can’t just drop by to have a cup of tea with my dad or go for a manicure with my mom.
The miles between us have cut the apron strings. I am not leaving this middle stage without some kicking and screaming, I admit. I am screaming “I want my Mommy!” just like a toddler being dropped off at a babysitter, but my screaming is silent and deep down in my gut where it takes the form of anxiety.
Luckily, in a father’s eyes, his daughter is always his little girl. This is why every little girl needs a daddy, to make her feel like a daughter again. Like when my dad knew I was depressed and anxious, and he said, “I will stay on the phone with you for two hours every day if it’ll make you better.” Or when he said, “I will come and stay with you for as long as it takes.”
Of course I never made my dad do those things, but just knowing that I was still his little girl and that he would take care of me was all I needed. That kind of fatherly love, the kind that says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” is the kind that makes you feel stronger. It’s the kind that gives you a gentle shove to get out there and play again.
I know my dad is on the sidelines cheering me on to the next stage. I will arrive at the beginning of the second half of my life a more mature, compassionate and wise person, with a wider view of the world, a view that only those of us who are willing to take off the training wheels have the privilege to see.
I think I went through adult separation anxiety this past year. You see, my parents moved from New Jersey to Texas two years ago following my older brother’s move out there. If that wasn’t enough to unhinge me, my last living grandparent, and the one I was always closest to, moved to Texas. Then, my younger brother moved to Miami.
This big change in our family forced me into that middle stage, perhaps a little younger than some people experience it. I felt my separateness from my parents, because even though my parents are still alive and well, they are at least 3,000 miles away and cannot be here to provide any sort of safety net or support. They aren’t here to attend my kids’ concerts or birthday parties. They aren’t here to help me if I’m sick. They aren’t here to babysit or pick me up if my car breaks down. I can’t just drop by to have a cup of tea with my dad or go for a manicure with my mom.
The miles between us have cut the apron strings. I am not leaving this middle stage without some kicking and screaming, I admit. I am screaming “I want my Mommy!” just like a toddler being dropped off at a babysitter, but my screaming is silent and deep down in my gut where it takes the form of anxiety.
Luckily, in a father’s eyes, his daughter is always his little girl. This is why every little girl needs a daddy, to make her feel like a daughter again. Like when my dad knew I was depressed and anxious, and he said, “I will stay on the phone with you for two hours every day if it’ll make you better.” Or when he said, “I will come and stay with you for as long as it takes.”
Of course I never made my dad do those things, but just knowing that I was still his little girl and that he would take care of me was all I needed. That kind of fatherly love, the kind that says, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” is the kind that makes you feel stronger. It’s the kind that gives you a gentle shove to get out there and play again.
I know my dad is on the sidelines cheering me on to the next stage. I will arrive at the beginning of the second half of my life a more mature, compassionate and wise person, with a wider view of the world, a view that only those of us who are willing to take off the training wheels have the privilege to see.
