For Isaac’s first 16 months of life, we rented space from friends and lived with them.
Amy and Rick had a 2-year-old daughter, Molly, and we shared some childcare (hugely helpful when the baby is sleeping and mom needs a walk, or when the baby is sick, and mom needs to run to the store), and household expenses and responsibilities. We all benefited from the arrangement.
I had yet to go through the “terrible twos” with Isaac, but I watched keenly to see how they parented in the thick of a difficult time. I took mental notes on how to respond to a child having a tantrum. I hadn’t seen it modeled before, or if I had, I wasn’t paying attention. I needed desperately to see it up close and personal, so that I wouldn’t do to Isaac what my mother had done to me as a child: scream, hit, and generally lose it.
One day, on our way out the door together, Amy and I watched as Molly threw herself on the floor, protesting the horrible fact that we were, um, going outside. I felt my own tension rise. We just wanted to leave, for Pete’s sake. Amy appeared calm. Serene, even.
And then she spoke to me out of the side of her mouth, sotto voce, “I’m thinking things I can’t say right now.”
I felt a huge burden rise off my shoulders. Even Amy, who is so calm and kind to her unreasonable daughter, feels the tension. She just doesn’t act on it.
It was an aha moment. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t alone in my anger and frustration. I wasn’t a bad parent because I had ugly thoughts that were unspeakable to my child. I could still be a loving parent and not feel good on the inside.
Amy’s frank and authentic sharing over her own inner state made single parenting a lighter load that day.
When we’re in tough times, the last thing we need to hear is that our feelings aren’t valid. The last thing we need to here is, “Oh, just have a more positive attitude.”
We need to hear that someone else has been there, felt the blisters on their feet from the long trail, felt the sore muscles from the backpack. They may be walking gracefully and appear to have it all together, but when they turn back and say, “Damn. This is one hell of a trail, isn’t it?” we are validated. We are not alone. Sometimes that’s all we need to get through a rough patch.
Wilderness of Motherhood 