I grew up on gold stars and participation trophies as an unwitting member of the self-esteem generation. When I entered motherhood in 2011, I took it even further.
My Bay Area enclave of well-to-do hippies was all about attachment parenting, which advocates baby-wearing and bodily closeness, high empathy and responding to baby’s cries, and co-sleeping to keep baby nearby.
I don’t disagree with these ideas. The problem was that I didn’t understand how to honor my boundaries while I went about doing everything for my son.
I didn’t know how to disentangle a need from a want, especially in the stressed-out throes of early, unplanned motherhood.
By the time my son was entering grade school, it felt like he had me wrapped around his little finger. Luckily, I’ve learned to flex my boundary muscle so I no longer bow to his every whim.
Every moment revolved around my son’s satisfaction and I resented it
When he was nearing 8, I was still cutting up his meat, tying his shoes, and co-sleeping. He was scared to sleep alone and I couldn’t stomach his discomfort.
He’d make excuses for why he couldn’t complete age-appropriate tasks like opening water bottles himself because it hurt his hands or washing the dishes because the dirty sink gave him the ick. So, I’d open the bottle for him and remove dishwashing from his agenda.
Every moment revolved around keeping him satisfied to avoid arousing my own motherly anxiety at his displeasure and emotional pain.
Meanwhile, I felt haggard and resentful. I finally decided things needed to change recognizing that if my son didn’t learn how to cope now, he wouldn’t be able to do it as an adult without me.
I turned things around for me and my son
When he was 8, I started the slow, but essential, process of making him sleep alone in his room.
We started with extra goodnight hugs and keeping his bedroom lights on and progressed to a quick cuddle and single nightlight.
After months of trial and error, he was finally putting himself to bed and not creeping into my room in the middle of the night to wake me for comfort.
As I started to set more boundaries, I also learned to love the sound of my own voice saying “No.” It’s a slow process, though.
My son is now 12 and he still asks me to do the simplest things for him like refill his water bottle or bring him pants first thing in the morning while he stays in bed. My answer is no.
We’re now working on repairing my son’s sense of self
As a preteen, my son has little self-agency. We’re working to repair his sense of self, his confidence in his own decision-making, and his ability to persevere.
I’ve learned that baby steps are key to breaking harmful patterns. I teach him to break down each task into digestible chunks that don’t feel daunting or overwhelming. In the past, I’d take it off his agenda completely, but not anymore.
I’ve found this strategy is essential for me, too. It helps me pace myself while keeping a mostly harmonious household.
We celebrate the little wins like learning to make the school bus on time each morning with some well-placed praise, a hot chocolate, or a sushi dinner.
I frame our work as a cooperative venture that’s preparing him for adulthood, and he understands — though often begrudgingly — that we’re on the same team.
We used to operate under the false idea that permission equals love. I’ve rewritten our script to emphasize that boundaries and expectations equal love.
I now respect my son and myself. I know he’s capable, and my behavior reflects this back to him so he can believe it, too.
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