Raising the Next Generation: My Struggle

To Nurture, or to Educate? Reflections on "the years of stupidity".

Oh, when they were sweet. Rome 2019

Dear Lite Living Community, and to all of you imperfect parents,

What follows is a particularly vulnerable post. I’ll admit that I wasn’t sure I could share my most intimate struggles here, and I debated whether it was the right thing to do. But then I remembered those private conversations I had had with young mothers at Parc Outremont more than a decade ago; mothers who sobbed in the sandbox and told me how lonely they were, and then immediately apologized for their tears; mothers who bowed their heads in shame telling me how they were failing as mothers by becoming just like their mothers. Oh, the shame in that park was so palpable as we built sandcastles and pushed our offsprings in the swings.

And for some reason, these mothers all assumed that because I was a yoga teacher I must have had my shit together, down to perfection. So, of course I told them about the day I had (almost) shoved a spoonful of yet another disgusting puree into my ten-month-old baby’s mouth, crying out in despair, “just eat the fucking thing!” after two nights of no sleep — my lowest mothering moment. Or, so I thought. There would be others.

So, as I burn with shame and guilt, I thought I would share with you some of my personal struggles, as well as some tidbits I have learned from psychology. Think of this essay as an attempt to think-together, and by no means as a guideline. Especially not — I beg you! — as yet another whip with which to flagellate yourself for being a bad parent. I hope it will be abundantly clear from my writing that I am in no position to give anyone advice, and I don’t claim to have the answers.

But before I open this can of worms, some important context…

1. THE WAY I WAS RAISED (AND NOT RAISED):

I was raised by Baby Boomers with post World War II trauma that was exacerbated by a Communist repression. This was the time before the invention of self-help books and parenting guides. You were expected to just get-on with the program and do your best at survival. If you have managed to avoid becoming an alcoholic, a chain-smoker or a wife-beater, you were considered a success story. Talking about your feelings, praising your children, and paying them any attention beyond what was absolutely necessary, was just not in fashion. In my parents’ eyes, I already had so much more than they had ever hoped to have. It was perfectly fair to expect that I should raise myself with little help from them. They were busy people. Babysitters? What was that? Sometimes my brother and I would be sent to my grandparents for months, other times we were left alone to cook our own meals, clean, and do our homework (and on one memorable night, we bonded over fighting an army of cockroaches).

When I was eight and my brother six, my mother defected with us to Israel promising us palm trees and sunshine. Then at the age of twelve I was sent to a kibbutz as a yaldat hutz (translates as “the girl from the outside,” which should give you a clue). I lived with my classmates in a house next to the cemetery, without any adult supervision between 3pm to 7am the next morning (this should give you a clue about what went down in that house).

And now, if you have the mildest interest in psychology, you may be calculating the numerous childhood scars and “traumas” I endured as a child. But don’t cue the violins just yet. While the communist childhood in Hungary and the move to Israel might make my Generation X story sound somewhat unique, friends of the same generation tell similar stories that sound eerily familiar, withstanding their geographic location.

It appears that we were the generation that was expected to raise itself, but also (or, therefore) the generation that was adamant to become different (better) parents. During those lonely years when I looked for solace in reading Greek Dramas (another clue) and wrote poetry, I hoped one day to become that mother I always dreamed of: A mother who was always present, always loving, and always selfless; a mother my children could rely on.

2. THE UNLIVED LIFE OF THE SELF-SACRIFICING PARENT

So I became the mother who gave natural birth twice, breast-fed for three years (with four months break), cooked healthy, organic food, used (and washed!) environmentally-friendly cloth-diapers, got up in the middle of the night, was by my daughters’ side when they were sick, and for three solid years forgot all about my own needs.

Until my body delivered a health-scare that reminded me that I too existed, and mattered.

This over-nurturing, sometimes to the point of self-sacrificing martyrdom, however, presents a different kind of danger. Father of analytical psychology Carl Jung warned us that nothing has a stronger influence on children than the unlived life of a parent. The pain of this unlived life can potentially present resentment in the parent, and not a small amount of guilt in the child who has replaced this ‘unlived life’ by no fault, and choice, of their own.

On this other extreme spectrum, both the parent and the child stand much to lose, with different consequences (traumas) to what a child turned parent who had suffered neglect.

During my four years at university as a mature student I witnessed the alarming trend among some (not all) young students who arrived regularly late to class and took no interest in the subject (unless it was going to be on the exam), but expected top grades without any input. Once, a nineteen-year-old student who was rarely in class told me that she was going to have her mother call and reprimand her professor who was threatening to fail her. I was so shaken by this attitude of disrespect and entitlement that I vowed to discourage anything that resembled it in my daughters.

3. TO EDUCATE, OR TO NURTURE?

So here is my dilemma: How to love, support and nurture my growing daughters’ individualism, while also establish healthy boundaries within which they can feel safe, and thrive?

“Don’t educate her now,” advised my friend on the phone, hours after my fourteen-year-old had hid the coffee, ordered me to get out of the kitchen and laughed in my face when I cried out in tears, “I don’t know how to help you!”

“It must be so tough for you,” she delivered another cruel blow, as she was packing her bags to go to her father’s. I had asked her to leave. Politely. I had asked for a break. I told her (three times, just to be sure) that she is welcome here — her home — when she was ready to talk and figure out a kinder way forward. My nervous system had been so run-down that I felt I reached a breaking point. I was afraid that I was going to say, or do, something I would later regret.

“Bullshit,” said my fourteen-year-old angel. The same angel who had sat beside my ailing grandmother five years before, caressing her arm and saying the only thing she could say in Hungarian: “szeretlek.” I love you. The same girl who four years ago had told me to stop bullying myself. The same girl who only two weeks ago had thanked me in her Christmas card for “being kind, generous, patient and so many other things” and wanted to tell me “how precious, and important” I was to her. The apple of my eye, my little Dalai Lama, now shut the door in my face and left me sobbing on the floor.

“Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved,” said psychoanalyst Erich Fromm. My daughter could do worse, and I would still love her. But not all mothers’ love is peaceful, and unconditional.

I hereby try to recall all the things I have learned from psychology:

THE CASE FOR NURTURE & UNCONDITIONAL LOVE:

1. We human being are designed to test boundaries, and challenge (read, give hell) to our parents. This is healthy. We need to distinguish ourselves and assert our individualism. Without this (exhausting) phase of rebellion, we never learn what we are about. As a parent, I should feel flattered that my teenager feels safe to act out with me, where I can observe her, and not act out elsewhere, in clandestine ways I don’t know about. Or worse, repress any acting out and never dare to be her true self.

2. It is also natural that teenagers are gravitating towards their friends, and find their parents less and less cool. Here is a sobering statistic I read somewhere (I wish I could remember where): by the age of twelve, children have spent about 75% of their time with us parents, and by the age of eighteen it goes up to 95%. A reminder to appreciate every pleasant and hellish moment.

3. The hormonal roller coaster that teenagers are going through is causing havoc in their bodies in ways they are not even aware themselves. They are struggling more than they let on. This is a call for compassion.

In the many articles I read on the teenage years (in preparation for the challenges ahead), I remember the biggest take-away: It is normal and healthy for teenagers to gravitate away from you. The best thing you can do as a parent is to remind them that you are always here when they need you.

THE CASE FOR EDUCATION AND HEALTHY BOUNDARIES:

1. Teaching responsibility. I am a loyal disciple of Gábor Maté’s ‘compassionate inquiry’ and Dr. Shefali’s ‘conscious parenting,’ but personally feel that there is something disrespectful (not to mention, humiliating!) about chasing your teens with sunscreen, prepared lunches, begging them to come to the table where a nice meal is waiting for them, and reminding them to keep their room reasonably tidy. How else can these young adults learn about responsibility if we take away the most basic expectations from them, like making their own beds, cleaning their own thermoses / lunchboxes, washing their own dishes and putting their laundry away? What lessons are our kids to learn about co-habitation, co-operation and good citizenship? Is it any wonder then that they go out into the world expecting that it would continue to hand them favours with no effort on their part? Are we doing them any favours? Are we preparing them optimally to be able to navigate life’s various challenges and thrive in a world that can often be unforgiving?

   Psychologists have different theories about why the current generation is the most anxious (yes, social media definitely plays a part), but I have heard countless of them say that behind this malaise (especially among young men) is a feeling that they don’t matter. Another natural human need is the need for purpose. While a clean room may not be the highest of purposes, it is a start. Perhaps this is why many psychologists argue that giving your teenagers choirs is important.

2. Ironically maybe, but (healthy) boundaries make us safer. Constantly being told what you cannot do is debilitating. But lack of boundaries is not any less dangerous. We all need to know where the limit is. The more we can get away with, the more we will keep testing.

3. Teaching Accountability. Before I became a parent I had promised myself that I would own up to my mistakes. This is not always easy, but I take this promise very seriously. I can recall countless occasions when my daughters told me off for taking out on them frustrations that they had nothing to do with. I bowed my head in humility and acknowledged that they were right. I apologized and promised to do better. I believe that this has made it easier for them to apologize as well. Not always, but more often than not.

So what to conclude from this? Where is the right/healthy balance? Do let me know when you find out!

All I know is that what I wish for my daughters is to be strong, independent and capable adults who are treating others with respect and compassion. In other words, I want the best of both worlds: responsibility with the freedom to be who they are meant to be.

And as for our relationship? I need to be able to co-habit in a small space with respect and a little consideration. I am prepared to go out of my way for my daughters, but can’t burn myself in the process. If I am to be their solid fortress, I need to make sure that I am a reasonable, functionable, and sane human being. And this is a heavy burden to carry, alone.

I draw encouragement from friends with older children who are already “cooked” (thank you

mary g.

for this wonderful reminder!). They tell me I “do alright” and that my daughter “will come back to me”. I hope that they are right. For now, I’m too deep in the mud to see it.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. So where to find this village as a single mother and immigrant? Any wonder I feel so exhausted being my daughters’ village? Again, this is not a cue for the violin, but an honest reflection on modern-day living and the circumstances in which I am trying to raise two responsible young adults.

“Be strong. Be resilient,” said my friend who advised me not to educate my daughter. Honestly, for someone who is all about resilience (and teaches resilience!) I’m slowly becoming allergic to the word. I have done nothing but being strong and resilient for much of my life. And I am getting a little tired of being strong.

But again, I have no choice. I pull myself up from the floor because I have to. Because I have another daughter and it’s not her job to mother me. She offers me a hug and tells me that she loves me. She tells me (once again) that I am the best mother in the world, when I feel like the biggest human failure. She tells me that I need a break. A real vacation. This is all beautiful. Too beautiful, but it also breaks my heart. Because I love my other daughter just as much and want her home, safe, and feeling loved. I want to hear her silly jokes and wild giggles, and miss her speaking to me in Hungarian.

So, I hit my yoga mat and write. I write to my daughter too, a handwritten note in a notebook that I bring to her father’s. She calls me five minutes later berating me for taking her new notebook and writing in it without her permission. “I didn’t take your notebook,” I say. “I bought it new, just to write to you.”

“Okay,” she says, and not another word before she hangs up.

This too shall pass. I know. I breathe.

Turning the lens on you…

Do you have teenagers, or children who are already “cooked”? Care to share your experience, words of wisdom? How do you / did you get through this challenging phase?

I find that few things feel more shameful than the thought that you are a bad parent. Let’s not carry our pain and struggles in private. It’s too heavy.

Can we discuss openly, and respectfully here?

Trust me, I feel incredibly vulnerable sharing my bad-parenting anecdotes with you, but I do it here so you will feel less alone. I know that I’m not alone. I still think about those mothers who cried on my shoulders at Parc Outremont, and the advice I didn’t take from Sophie Grégoire about getting help…

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1. In Hebrew the adolescent years are referred to as “‘the years of stupidity.’ Not necessarily a derogatory term; it could illicit compassion in us adults who have already gone through our own stupid years, conveniently forgetting how stupid we once were (and sometimes/often continue to be).