I Read All the Wrong Books
It was August, 2006, the first week of kindergarten for my eldest son. Hope and excitement were buzzing through the air, through my heart. Our big boy was starting school at what we thought was the most amaze-balls arts charter school in Silicon Valley. Our whole family walked to school together. It was a Wednesday, and we were all wearing our biggest smiles. Surely a half day wasn’t too much for our boy, who was just three weeks away from turning 5? Such a bright and imaginative little man. That three day week seemed to go fine, it was by the end of the following week that I started to sense the ride ahead might not be smooth. By the end of the first month I was virtually transported back to my own childhood to relive the feeling of torture school had evoked in me. My reaction was so visceral I actually had this thought: “If I had known I would have to relive my childhood I would never have had children.” Honestly, I thought that. About my beautiful boys. About kindergarten.
It was then I began researching learning styles, educational philosophies, parenting techniques, the sensitive child, ADHD, sleep disorders, anxiety, nutrition, blah, blah, and blah. I dug into this work so I could rescue my 4 year old from potential self doubt, self hatred, school hatred, and feelings of failure and inadequacy. I read so many books, web articles, and watched documentaries on education. I was so concerned my son was going to have the same hellish school experience I had if I didn’t figure it out. Right away. You can predict the outcome of these efforts, right? Since I’m writing about them on a blog created by two moms of troubled teens, and I'm one of those moms.
My son was almost five, he's fifteen now and I kept reading those books. I was reading all the wrong books for close to eleven years. The one book I owned that could have helped me, I put down after reading the first chapter. My aversion to that book was so powerful I can still see myself slamming it shut and tossing it back on the bookshelf. I reshelfed that book because I believed I was not the one in need, I wasn't aware I had a need. My child didn’t suffer all those years because he was broken or needed fixing, he suffered because his father and I hadn’t figured out our own experiences were informing his experience. Plus, all our energy was occupied by the work we were doing to "save" our son, his little soul was where we believed our focus needed to be.
Dear Reader, I don’t want to scare you, but I do feel the need to tell you: “Buckle up. The accountability train is coming, and there’s a seat on it for everyone in your family.” The reason my children’s stories are so similar to mine and their father’s is because they are versions of ours. Even though we didn’t put them to bed every night retelling what happened in our young lives, we were evidence of our unhealed childhoods. They were witnesses to our emotional legacy just by being part of our family, it was like living on the set of a how-to video on our suffering!
What we do with this knowledge could profoundly change all of our lives. (No pressure, though.) In the past we probably would have judged ourselves and others, blamed ourselves, each other, our parents, and tossed it all together in a mega-dose of shame dressing. It is easier to surrender to the role of victim of these complicated circumstances than it is to untangle the nest of thorny brambles. Doing something about it is Fucking Hard (pardon my language). It’s painful. It doesn't feel like the appropriate triage has taken place. After all, we aren't the ones smoking too much weed, talking about dropping out of high school and hanging with a bunch of kids who are collectively speeding down the windy mountain road towards Loss & Regret. I’m almost a half century old, and somehow I didn’t even know I had this work to do. I had designed my life to avoid the pain and feelings I am cycling through on this present journey, I thought that was healing. My husband and I are going back to the inherited stories of our childhoods. We're trying to understand them, eventually we will heal some parts of ourselves and hopefully offer a healthier home to ourselves, each other and our children. It’s hard work. I’m so grateful to be aware enough to embrace it, grateful our two boys will have the opportunity to write and live their own stories and release themselves from our histories. Most importantly, we are relinquishing authority to our boys to define themselves and understand themselves through their own hearts and minds. We will make mistakes along the way, but our intention is to be present, listen, support, and love them for the truly beautiful souls they both are.
By T. Wildernessmom
By T. Wildernessmom
If you’re interested in reading the "right" books and articles for a journey of self discovery, here is a good place to start:
Podcast episode: Family of Origin by Brad Reedy
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