How do we balance our own fears as our kids enter new phases?

I wrote last week about the mourning as one chapter ended and another one began with my son beginning elementary school. What I realized in the first week, however, is that a lot of the anxieties and fears I was having were my own. My son was READY – a stark comparison from last year (as we did a year of homeschool to determine if we’d send him to first grade when he entered school or to a year of Kindergarten) to this year, which erased any doubts we had of our decision to hold him. His academics had never been a concern, but that social and emotional readiness was so evident as we prepared and went through his first few days. I, on the other hand, was struggling so much, even knowing he was ready, and I couldn’t figure why until after that first day. Then, it hit me. All the jitters he wasn’t having, but I was, were the same jitters I have had since I was a kid whenever school was starting. This eager anticipation mixed with uneasiness stuck with me through graduate school, and even into my years of teaching; preparing for a new school year always brought a heightened sense of stress for me, with my type A personality and major perfectionist attitude that I wore like a badge of honor, it made new beginnings borderline miserable. As a parent, I have worked so hard to minimize these aspects of my personality and find ways to use them to benefit myself and my family, but as my own son started school, they all came flooding back, forcing me to face them in a new way.

As I prepared his supplies, even though I naturally did it weeks ahead, I felt the same jitters, the same worries about studying, tests, time management, etc. It brought me to tears worrying of all of these thoughts running through my son’s mind, except… they weren’t. These feelings were about me, not about him at all. My beautiful son, Lord bless him, has acquired the traits I like most about myself, perfectly mixed with the most wonderful attributes of his father. Among my favorites, this being my husband’s sense of ease in most things he does, especially when he knows he is prepared. My son, naturally, did feel prepared, thanks to the efforts we have put in, which we did for the exact reasons of giving him the strategies and abilities to move forward and also to be able to vocalize when he needs assistance. For him, he felt completely capable and ready to move into this next phase, completely armed with the same charming smile as his dad, and the faith and prayers of his mama. In fact, my husband and I both have spent so much time in also expressing what expectations we DO have, none of which are necessarily strictly academic based in the sense of achieving high scores, but more in the respect of listening and taking one’s time to complete tasks so you ensure you have given it your full attention and focus. 

After I met with another fellow mom and friend, one who was very similar in personality to me in school, I shared with her what I had realized about why I was having such a hard time with my son starting school. She gasped, grabbed my arm, and told me she had realized the same thing. In fact, she admitted she had recurring dreams the week leading up to her own kids beginning school, of preparing for a test, only to get to class and it be a totally different test than what she studied for. While I naturally do not bask in glory when my friends are struggling, I breathed a sigh of relief to know I was not alone. When I shared the story with another mom friend, she said she had similar feelings when her child started, her own insecurities coming to the surface and worrying of her child having the same feelings she did, putting the same immense amount of pressure on herself that was more destructive mentally than it was constructive in any capacity. 

As parents, we naturally want what is best for our children. Sometimes, however, I think those lines get blurred when we accidentally project our own insecurities on our kids and almost encourage fears they themselves don’t have. It can become increasingly difficult then, to even assist our own children as we are grappling to come to terms with our own fears. While I do not have a fix on how to prevent this from happening, I can say that when it does happen, taking the time to address the situation is monumental. As my son let go of my hand and walked into his building without looking back, I was finally able to put words and understanding to what I had been feeling. Facing it, facing where I felt I had failed in my need to excel gave me newfound courage to better approach this new phase in my son’s life. I anticipate that it will even potentially help me identify what areas my son may struggle in as we move forward, because I can see more clearly what fears are my own vs. what his may be. I even chose to share this with my son, and that honest vulnerability felt fantastic to offer to my child so that he hopefully sees my learning as well and feels comfortable sharing his own fears with me.