inquiring parent

I’m guessing that about two out of every three readers of this blog are parents. (Okay, two out of THE three readers, and the other one is Pam – Hi Pam!) 

If you’re not a parent you might think this post doesn’t apply to you, and I’d say that it might. As you read it, perhaps you can think of other situations where you think you want to be ‘good’ – a good spouse, employee, teacher.

There’s nothing obviously stressful about wanting to be good at something, so it might not seem worth questioning that belief. Yet I’ve found that often it’s the beliefs that seem so very reasonable that generate most stress. I’ve read that stress is caused either by trying to push away or to hold on. This makes a lot of sense to me. We push away what we think will do us harm, and try to hold on to what we think will bring us peace. Holding on creates tension. (If you find this hard to imagine stop reading for a moment and pick up something on your desk. Hold it tightly and notice what happens to your hand!) So the very act of trying to cling on makes it harder to do or be what we think we should.

Then there’s the word ‘want’. I want to be a good parent. Want can mean lack. If you want something you don’t have it (or at least you don’t believe you have it), so if I want to be a good parent, that implies that I’m not. For me, one of the most important sub-questions I’ve heard Katie ask is, “What images come into your mind when you think this thought?” What I’ve noticed, many times is that when I think I have to be or do something its opposite also comes into my mind. I think I want to be kind and patient, and images appear of me nagging and criticising my children. I think I should be a good parent, and my mind fills with pictures of people telling me I’m not. The day that I first noticed this was long before I’d discovered “The Work”.

The girls were still little – three and four. I had pain that a doctor told me was fybromyalgia. It could take years to get better, so I’d read. (It didn’t.) Some days I couldn’t lift the girls, couldn’t open the garage door. Yoga helped, so I had started doing yoga in the mornings. That particular morning I hadn’t done my yoga when the girls woke up. After breakfast they wanted to go swimming. I explained I needed to do yoga first, and they wanted to join in. Sounds idyllic doesn’t it? And wasn’t I such a wonderful mother, introducing my children to wholesome activities like yoga at such an young age? That was what I wanted to believe. How virtuous I felt saying, yes, I would show them what to do.

It didn’t work out like that. I can’t remember exactly what happened instead. Either they thought they’d do their own version of the exercises, or they climbed all over me when I lay down. It could have been cute and fun, we could have invented some new exercises, had I not had a head full of people telling me how a good parent should be. “You should take control, not let them run riot,” ran the commentary in my head. So I snapped at the girls to stop messing about and do what I showed them. The internal rant switched from taking my side to theirs, and carried on, “Look at you, you idiot. Yoga is supposed to be relaxing. How are they ever going to find it relaxing if you snap at them? They’re only little kids! Lighten up for goodness sake. If you’d been more organised and got up earlier you could have finished yoga ages ago.”

Strangely enough, this didn’t help me relax! Strangely enough, this snarling voice didn’t bring serenity to that yoga session! But that voice in my head didn’t shut up. I told the girls I knew they hadn’t done anything wrong, that I was trying not to be angry, and we got ready for the pool. Meanwhile old nagging-voice told me I was useless at getting organised. As we set off for the pool, it said, “You can’t go swimming now. It’s far too late. By the time you get back lunch will be late, and the girls will be hungry. Any decent mother would be better organised at feeding them.” We took a detour via a corner shop and bought muffins, but that only momentarily quieted my self-criticism. It wasn’t proper food, not the sort of thing a decent mother fed her kids. And lunch would still be far too late.

I kept listening to the voices in my head, trying to please them, not realising then that I didn’t have to believe a word they said. I had to be a good parent, and I was failing. Miserably. I’d say sorry to the girls, say I knew it wasn’t their fault, but the next minute I’d start snapping again. About the only time I stopped snapping that morning was when we were in the pool. My four-year-old pointed this out (who says wisdom comes with age?) Now, I can see that the reasons were simple – in the pool we were all doing something we loved, the self-criticism let up and I was able to focus on them and what we were doing instead of trying to please some imaginary audience.

That day was the first time I realised that trying to live up to what I imagined other people believed a good parent should be was preventing me from being able to be the best parent I could. I didn’t know about The Work then, but it’s interesting to look back and see how I would have been different without the thought. It’s not hard to see, because for part of the day, I was that person. For part of even that day filled with self-doubt and frustration, I was a woman in a pool, playing with her children, enjoying their company. I can also see that what prevented me from staying that way when we left the pool was fear. Fear of other people’s disapproval, and also fear that without this constant nagging voice pointing out my errors I wouldn’t know how to do the right thing. A few years before this, as LB changed from baby into toddler I scoured bookshops looking for a parenting book that explained what was acceptable behaviour in a toddler, and what I should correct. It took me a while to realise that nobody could tell me this, that for each parent the answer is different. Later I came to realise that my confusion came from never having learned to trust my own inner voice, and that is why I find The Work so valuable. It’s not about adding any new rules, but about letting go. Even the turnarounds aren’t new rules to be followed, but options to explore.

What turnarounds might you find for ‘I want to be good parent”? 

I don’t want to be a good parent. Not if it means following someone else’s ‘rules’, and trying to live based on what I imagine will get me approval. 

I want to be a good child. Yes, is that a child is open to learn. 

The thought “I want to be a good parent,” loosened its hold on me that day, but it came visiting many times since, and still occasionally does. When I write for this blog it whispers, “You can’t say that, people will think you’re a bad parent.” Now, after years of doing The Work, I know I don’t have to believe it, and that what people think is their business and doesn’t threaten me in any way.