Breakfast time rolls around, and my 6-year-old daughter shouts, “I need more milk!” “I can get it!” she insists as I automatically rise from my chair. But I force myself to stay seated, observing her dash into the kitchen with her cup. She strains to open the refrigerator, accidentally knocking over the salad dressing in her haste. My hands grip the table, and my anxiety spikes.
With all the strength she can muster, she yanks out the almost full gallon of milk — it seems as heavy as she is. I take deep breaths, recalling all those parenting books that emphasize the importance of allowing children to be independent. But what exactly do they learn? I can’t quite remember. My eyebrow starts to twitch as I fixate on her precariously tilting the gallon toward her tiny cup. My tension is so intense it feels like I could crack a walnut with my clenched muscles. Suddenly, milk gushes out, and the cup clatters to the floor with a resounding ping, creating a white waterfall across the surface.
“Oops!” she exclaims, setting the carton upright as milk continues to spill out. “It’s fine,” I reply through gritted teeth, forcing a smile as I hand her the mop. “Accidents happen!”
Once the kids head off to school, I consciously steer clear of their rooms. They do their best to make their beds, which would be acceptable for most parents. But I’m not just any parent; I’m a recovering control enthusiast. Eventually, I need to venture upstairs for something, so I cup my hands around my eyes, like the blinders they use on parade horses to keep them calm.
“It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine,” I chant under my breath, even though I know the sheets are likely bunched up beneath the comforter, which might even be brushing the floor. The impulse to micromanage extends far beyond milk and bed-making. I bite my tongue when my daughter comes down with a chunk of hair missing from her ponytail. I sit on my hands while they piece together a puzzle, my stomach knotting as they try each piece painstakingly before finally finding the right fit. The desire to snatch the brush, the puzzle piece, or the milk carton and just do it myself is almost overwhelming.
Until now, my controlling nature has had its perks. In the workplace, things got done efficiently, and my bosses could rely on me, even if my co-workers didn’t always appreciate my presence. My life operated smoothly; my credit score was pristine, and my sheets were perfectly arranged. The downside? Flying makes me anxious; I hate relinquishing control.
“You know you’ll have to alter your ways once the baby comes,” my friends told me during my first pregnancy, often while I was organizing their utensil drawers. “This kid is going to turn your world upside down.” “Sure, whatever. By the way, do you have a tape measure and a circular saw? I can whip up something amazing for you.”
They were right. And although I’m striving to change my ways, old habits are tough to break. I understand that kids must try and stumble to learn. Experiencing natural consequences is vital — you need to fall to learn how to walk. The sheets bunched up under the comforter aren’t going to harm anyone. Repeat after me: The sheets bunched up under the comforter aren’t going to hurt anyone.
My kids are cultivating perseverance and resilience, and judging by the twitch in my eyebrow each morning as it takes them 20 minutes to tie their shoes, I’m learning along with them. For more insights on parenting and overcoming challenges, check out this blog post.
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Summary:
Managing the urge to control every aspect of parenting can be challenging. By allowing children to learn through their experiences, parents can foster resilience and independence. Recognizing the importance of letting go, even in the face of chaos, is essential for both children and parents alike.
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