My girl is outgrowing me.
I know this is how it’s supposed to be.
The idea of raising my kids to take their own steps out into the world has become more difficult. Little by little, I feel my heart breaking with each new stride she takes into independence and away from me.
This world has expanded right before her eyes, and her arms reach out to take in all the things I cannot see and all the people I do not know. The worry that comes with not seeing and knowing everything can be suffocating. The distance widens, the bridge narrows, and I ache with a gentle wonder at it all.
But this is how it’s supposed to be.
My girl is outgrowing me.
I cherish those moments when she reaches toward me. I clasp them tightly in my grasp and quietly celebrate the connection that remains. She still calls me home. I’m her launching pad, her landing ground, and her safety net.
But when she’s gone, with people I don’t know well in places I’ve never been, I agonize about the details, about her heart, about her choices. I worry about the influence these critical elements in her life will have on who she is and who she will become.
“Should I come into the house to get you?” I ask, hoping I get a glance.
“No, you don’t need to, Mom. Just text me when you get here.”
I wait in the car, idling outside a house I’ve never been in, filled with people I do not know, and this cracks open a new unsettled place in me, a harsh taste of reality. I search the people walking outside and squint to see into the windows to see anything that might hint at her experience.
Cars line the streets, the house is crowded, and people are starting to leave. I spot the one familiar family I knew was going to be here, and that eases my ache a little. I feel like an outsider looking into someone else’s world – her world. It’s awkward, uncomfortable.
But this is how it’s supposed to be.
My girl is outgrowing me.
As I always do, I ask for more details. Sometimes she’ll excitedly share it all, and other times her vague responses leave me hanging. Our one world has been split in two. She leaves hers to come back into mine. I stifle my need to be in hers.
I don’t push it. I simply make sure she knows I’m here. But I still get the old baby I once knew when she randomly invites me in, sharing frustrations with friends and thoughts about boys, the pressures that burden her about schoolwork and swim team, along with the daily wardrobe and hairstyle choices.
She shares pictures of so many faces while she points and identifies these new friends she is getting to know. It’s all blurry and overwhelming because these people are strangers to me. Are they dangerous to her?
I’m fiercely fighting off the fears, spurring on excitement and joy to take their place, as my girl leaps into these high school moments full of so many things, so many details I don’t know. I miss knowing.
But this is how it’s supposed to be.
She’s outgrowing me.
She talks incessantly about the upcoming homecoming dance and this new group of girls and boys she is going with. We went to five stores to find the perfect dress and shoes, and they are just that – perfect. I want to come take pictures. I want to see her in her dress and take in her new surroundings. I want to meet her new friends and connect with their parents and find my way through this foreign territory of high-school-level terrain.
I want to be in it, relish it, just for this time.
“Oh, you don’t need to go, Mom. Other people will be taking pictures.”
“But I want to! I want to meet your friends and see you in your dress and meet the parents!”
“Well, okay, but please don’t act crazy.”
She’s outgrowing me.
And this is how it’s supposed to be.
She’s outgrowing my “crazy” overly excited mama ways. I face the gut-wrenching truth that I must grow with her, grow toward her without crowding her, shift my ways to meet her exactly where she is. She no longer wants the insanely inappropriate, overdramatic, wildly passionate mama.
She needs a high school mom now.
And being a high school mom is new to me. So very new. I have a lot to learn. So I’ll work on my new ways, and pray she continues to let me peek into her world as she outgrows mine.
As heartbreaking and agonizing as this slow breakup is, I clearly see that this is how it’s supposed to be.
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The original post was first published on Motherly.com
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Oh, the memories this brought back. The in between of it all. In some ways it’s easier when they are grown and out on their own. Sometimes not knowing is a blessing. Assuming all is well is a blessing. But when they have that one foot in and one one foot out, it’s a hard stage. Hang in there, beautiful mama. The in between is hard. It will get easier. xo
Aw thanks so much sweet sister. It’s challenging at times, to wonder and worry- feeling like they’re still babes and yet, they are finding their own footing- which is GOOD. I just don’t want to let go… But know I need to, little by little.
Waaaaah – the break up! I’m not ready. At the beginning of this school year my husband was taking Christopher to the high school football game. I wanted to go too to make it a family thing and it was a nice football night – perfect weather, not hot or cold. He pretty much said the same thing, something along the lines of not acting crazy. As if! But anyway he only sat with us about a minute and then he was gone and as much as I looked at him, he was never looking at me. 🙁 I still get invited in to his room at procrastination bed time to talk and ask him anything. I need to keep that door open even though I’m so tired then. Thanks for this post. It’s a good reminder for us to fit them in where we can get them in.
It’s sooooo hard at times, isn’t it Kenya? I LOVE that you still get that time before bed. Hold onto that!
Awww I’m re-reading – just last night, “Mom come in my room” (I’m still invited).
YAY!! You’re STILL INVITED!! I have a good feeling your manbaby will ALWAYS be your little boy. 🙂 I love that you came back to re-read this, Kenya. That makes my heart swell…
I hadn’t described it as a ‘break-up’, this going to high school phase, but those words describe it perfectly. I remember thinking, ‘where did my girl go?’ Yes, it’s a transition phase that you never know what you’re going to get day by day. The letting go of anything can be hard on a mom’s heart! You’ve written words here that speak to all mom’s of teens or soon to be teens, or past the teen phase, Chris, connecting and encouraging.
Thanks so much for your beautiful comment, Lynn. It’s such a fascinating and challenging time- but I do love watching my girl grow to be independent, despite the worries and sometimes sadness of her outgrowing me.
Aw, I know my day will be coming sooner or later with my own two. But like you I will know it is the way it should deep in my heart. But still will miss their younger days and our relationship then, too. Hugs and thanks for sharing Chris <3
Ah, Janine… it is coming up ahead, isn’t it?! Your girls are so precious. I can’t wait to see them grow up! As hard as it is, it’s also such an incredible experience to watch our kids grow more independent too. 🙂
Yes … it is always difficult when our children grow up. Praying for them helps.
God bless.
Hi Victor! Thanks for stopping by to read this. And you are so right- praying for them truly helps. <3
Awwww, this is so poignant. I always say that motherhood is a series of loss. With each new stage, they leave us and yes, they’re supposed to. Does that make it easier? Heck no! Being a mom is the hardest job in the world. They do come back when they need us though. Beautiful post, Chris!
It IS hard, Lisa! I’m just a babe in this journey, and I think I see a long winding road ahead… I’m holding out hope that our close relationship will last through her outgrowing me. 🙂
I’m seriously trying to figure out how my parents put five kids through middle school and high school, and four of us through college! Maybe it’s because they knew we would give them nine grandchildren! I have a friend at the elementary school who has a fifth grader and she says the thought of middle school is making her feel ill. I think the thought of first grade is making me feel! I have so much wisdom to learn from you. Your high school girl seems different than most, and ultimately the place she calls Home will always strengthen her to make good choices and to take good care of that amazing heart
Aw, thanks for those sweet words, Tamara! My girl has a pretty amazing heart- and I’m so grateful for that. 🙂 I am in AWE of your parents. Truly! How DID THEY SURVIVE THAT? And raise such amazing kids who became incredible adults, to boot? They need to share all their secrets… I’m barely making it and I only have TWO. LOL
I’m so happy to read that Cassie is enjoying high school and meeting so many new friends! But, yes, you nailed this outside looking in sort of feeling that lingers in us mama as the years go by. Thank you for always getting it. Miss you!
Thanks as always for getting it, Julie. I miss you TOO! (Is life as crazy for you as it is for me? I’m guessing the answer is a big resounding YES. lol)
Wow Chris! You carried me into the depths of your momma bear heart and all the feels that come with seeing your baby girl grow up before your eyes. Very poignant, real, and raw. Love it!
Aw, thanks so much sweet friend! It’s quite an emotional and extraordinary journey. XOXO
I’m so glad you shared this post again, which aligns right when I’m at the juncture with my oldest starting high school. I needed to read this tonight, my friend. It was like comfort food, wrapped in a hug.
(I almost had a terrific typo… “like comfort food, wrapped in a jug.” But I tell you, if it were wrapped in a jug, it would be a jug of something awesomely refreshing and happy. Like sweet tea.)
All that to say this: this beautifully honest and encouraging post really helped me today. Thank you. 🙂
Aw!! Your comment made me tear up, Robin! I’m soooo glad this post encouraged you the way it did. It’s a HARD transition, this one. You’ve got this, mama. And I’m all about comfort food wrapped in a jug. LOL *gulp-gulp-gulp* 🙂