Exactly where is this lane I am supposed to stay in?
Conversations with adult children, specifically women, are laced with danger. If you say nothing or don't reply to a question fast enough, you could be construed as (1) not listening, (2) not caring or (3) thinking she is doing everything wrong. Say something too quickly, or a short reply because texting a long reply takes too long, and you are told you are meddling, butting in, out of your lane. The past few months I feel as if I have been walking through a minefield; say the wrong thing or say anything at the wrong time or just nod and listen and BOOM. And it is not as if I am offering advice every day or telling them they don't feed their children right or they are horrible wives. I don't nag them about not calling, nor do I send 16-page letters chronicling every single offense, real or imagined, they've committed since birth, complaining how no one cares. I grew up getting letters like that from my mother, and was constantly told I wasn't good enough, and never would be; so I know from painful experience how much it hurts to feel inadequate. Nope, I love my daughters and my stepdaughter and I cherish the relationship I have (or thought I had) with them.
I don't want to be the person they have pigeonholed me to be, the 40-something mom who was trying her best to raise competent, loving, and Godly women. That was nearly 30 years ago and I am finished raising them and just want to keep getting to know them, who they are now, what they think, what they love, and how they see me. I want to be that rare and beautiful blend of mother and friend, which is something I never had (either actually). I want them to know me, to ask me my thoughts, to understand how I feel about things like getting older, death, grandchildren, my parents, the music I like, how am I doing with my brother, or about my life in general. And I want to be able to speak the truth to them, to tell them what I see in them, or in their lives, that is good and wonderful, but also what may cause them pain and disappointment.
And therein lies the rub, my Shakespearian friends, because my middle-age daughters take offense when I say anything that even remotely smacks of advice, even if it is not. Why? Because I am "the mom," the one who controlled them when they were little, kept them safe, disciplined them, yelled at them, and dished out consequences for their misbehaviors. I am told to mind my business, stay in my lane, to not bring that up ever again, etc., etc. Do they really think I want that role back? That I want to control their lives or discipline them or keep them safe? Do they really believe I am such a meddling busy body? Can't they see how much I love them and want to be a part of their lives? That I think they are wonderful human beings? Do they not know how much that love is worth, and how much wisdom I can offer from nearly 70 years on this planet? I would have given my right arm to have a mother who wanted to know about me, be a part of my life even after I was "all grown up."
Maybe that's the problem--overcompensating for something I never had by trying to be that to the young women God entrusted me with. Some folks my age have almost zero contact with their grown kids, others have one or more adult children living with them, and still others just share coffee and light conversation. I want more, but these three women, two of whom I raised, seem happy with having less. And as I approach the "golden years" of my life there is so much I want to say, so much I want to share, and who better to share it with than women I love? Sure I have friends and a husband who is awesome, and acquaintances where my days take me, but it is the next generation of me that I want to share things with, so that when I am gone, there will be some part of me here who knew who I was and what I loved.
The funny thing about this conundrum I am in? Young women my daughters' ages and younger seek out my advice and my companionship and my wisdom; they see me as a valuable resource to tap into, so why the disconnect with my own?
Who knows, right?
God does, I know...I think I am going to have a chat with him about this next time I talk to him.
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