A summary from Dr Deborah Vinall and Sue Reid’s live video.
I sent my child alone on a cross-country plane today.
This sweet one who nestled into my chest with his dewy newborn hair, then my hip, within the folds of a soft cotton sling, peering out to take in the world with wide-eyed wonder. Who slipped from that sling to the sidewalk beside me, soft small hand in mine as we explored rocks and butterflies and flowers. Who rode in the plastic seat on the back of my bicycle to the park, the ice cream parlor, and then kindergarten where he eagerly learned to navigate the world in a foreign tongue.
This sweet one with whom I played pirates (pirates who gave the treasure back at the end, because “we just want adventures, not to make anyone sad, right Mom?”) and space-faring cats and monkey restauranters serving homemade banana muffins. With whom I read in all the appropriate accents thousands of picture and then chapter books, diving into worlds rich in fantasy and magic and dragons. My fellow explorer in museums and galleries and historical ruins.
“Your mom can accompany you to the gate,” the check-in agent told my unaccompanied minor.
“I’m good,” he said. I looked up at him (he towers 5” above my own tallish frame). And I know he is. I raised him to be.
It’s me that’s not okay.
Parenting is madness. How can we love so deeply and then just let go?
Sharing my anxious anticipation of his pending launch into adulthood with a fellow psychologist friend recently, she joked, “You could just mess him up a little bit, cripple him emotionally, so he won’t go.”
“Tempting!” I laughed. (Her tween, overhearing, astutely observed: “That is so messed up.”)
Confidence. It’s the greatest gift we can instill in our children. As needs are met, they naturally become ready to reach for the next frontier.
I remember when my sweet one was four. We toured preschools together, and he thought they looked fun, but he said he didn’t want to go. “Next year, Mama. I’ll do Kindergarten next year, okay?” I didn’t press the issue. He didn’t feel ready to be away from me that much yet, and I trusted the lead of his tender heart. Needs fully met are fulfilled and are needs no longer.
Days after he turned five, Kindergarten began. New place, new peers, new language. The bell rang and the teacher came outside to direct her tiny pupils to line up. He shouldered his train backpack, which covered most of his small back from shoulders to knees, and excitedly got in line. He didn’t look back. No hesitation, no tears. Eyebrows high, grin wide, bouncing on his toes. His need to stay close was met, and he was ready. Confident.
He’s ready now. I’ve done my job, and my heart breaks, but his beats strong, steady, unafraid. Ready for a summer adventure. I’m giving him gifts I did not receive, rewriting the story for a new generation.
When my son was a baby, I read Kathryn Stockett’s newly released The Help. I was touched by Aibileen’s loving words to baby Mae each day: “You is kind, you is smart, you is important.” While far from the point of the novel, I was struck by the power of this gift of daily affirmation. I began to sing a little verse to my son every night inspired by those words:
You’re a good good boy you’re a strong boy,
You’re a good good boy you’re a smart boy,
You’re a good good boy you’re a kind boy,
And I love you with all of my heart.
If there’s to be a prophecy over my child’s life, let this be it. Let these be the words that sink deep into his psyche and ground him in confidence to be good and kind and brave.
This time it’s only a trip to explore his passions with NASA. I still have more time before he launches for good. My heart aches at the stretching and growing and loss of those sweet childhood years, but is gratified too in observing the independence and confidence that those precious years fostered.
What has your journey with or toward confidence looked like? In the video linked here, I share a little of my own jagged journey toward self-confidence in conversation with
Sue Reid. I reflect on the power of inner child work, or loving self-compassion to the hurt younger parts of you who received the wounds that have chipped away at your own self-confidence through time. In holding these injured parts with tenderness, whether though meditation, journaling, therapy, or simply sitting with the memories without looking away, we can bring healing light inside that illuminates the truth that you have always been enough and you have always been worthy of love. As the hard edges of those painful memories soften and the rocky ground is tilled with the wisdom of adult understanding, confidence is given fertile soil in which to sprout. And from that seedling a tree may grow that gives shade and strength to those around you, its leaves fertilizing their own growth of self.
It’s never too late to begin to believe in yourself.
You are strong.
You are smart.
You are kind.
You’ve got this.