High school varsity sports tryouts were last week.

Maddie picked volleyball and Sydney picked tennis and the night before they were to find out if they made the teams, I had a giant knot in my stomach.

Why?

Because, like any parent, not only did I hope they would make it, I realized I was also going over my strategy for how I would hold them up if they did not.

My mind went immediately to the place many parents go when they want to make sure their kids aren’t sad and avoid any potential heartbreak.

And then, as if to send an angel message through the very unspiritual instagram, I saw a post by the beloved Glennon Doyle.

She wrote this:

“Somewhere along the way, our parenting generation decided it was our job and responsibility to protect our children from experiencing pain and heartbreak.”

Yes!

I am of Sicilian blood too, so I can add in a gene of fierce protection for mia famigilia.

She went on to write, “we do this like it’s our duty to mow down anything in their path that could make them sad or lonely or angry or left out.”

Yes we do!

Who wants their child to feel sad? Or lonely? Or angry? Or...left out?

I can’t even watch other people’s kids play musical chairs, let alone my own!

Even right now, the thought of the kid who doesn’t make the last chair slays me.

But I kept reading.

And it struck me hard, so I want to share it with you.

Glennon wrote, “not only are we breaking ourselves with an utterly impossible task, at the same time, we’re robbing our kids of the one thing that will allow them to become the brave, kind, and wise adults that we hope they’ll become.”

Ah. It’s something I know, but man it’s so hard to do. To just let them feel sad, or angry, or lonely, or left out.

Even when I know that my own tears of rejection, heartbreak or defeat, unpleasant as they were, were the very things that shaped much of who I am right now.

It’s how we build resilience, tap our vulnerability and increase our sense of compassion for others.

We know for ourselves that courage comes when we take a risk without knowing the outcome. And that failure or pain can be our greatest teachers.

This is the same for our children.

I used to vision myself as the woman from the Nutcracker, the one with the giant hoop skirt with all of her children living underneath it.

At one point in the show, the kids come running out to dance and frolic in joy, and then quickly crawl back under the skirt, into their mama’s safe haven.

I want to be that mama forever.

But that’s not how it works.

As they get older, our kids need to stand there in whatever place they choose for themselves, and then face whatever obstacles come their way.

If they succeed, they grow and learn.

If they fail, they grow and learn.

When I step in, I impose my own views on their young minds.

When I stand back, I let them flourish and learn the real world on their own.

This doesn’t mean I can’t hold them TIGHTLY when they cry.

Or pray at night that all goes well in their world.

Or show up every single time they ask for me (and stand at the ready even when they don’t).

It just means that as they grow up, I can keep them safe, healthy and loved, but they can forge their own path.

I can simply be their guide.

Letting them fall on occasion, or cry for a night, knowing that getting up and pulling themselves together is the most important part.

The good news is they both made the volleyball and tennis teams, so off I go to the sidelines to cheer them on.

But I think now I’ll leave my Nutcracker skirt at home.

With fierce love,
Alison