Dear Lucy,
I’ve run the gamut of emotions this week. From, “how could
she be 12?!” to, “where did the time go?!” and all of those typical things that
happen at birthdays. I think my emotional state has been complicated, too, by
your friends leaving for France today. I know you’ve been emotional about that,
too. Just last night you said, in the
same breath, “I’m so glad I’m not going to France, but all my friends are
leaving me!” It’s tricky, really, and I want you to know that it’s weighing on
me as well. We knew fairly early on that an overseas trip for you in 6th
grade probably wouldn’t happen. Your struggles with worries and anxiety started
early, and over the years your dad and I talked about whether or not you’d be
able to make a trip like this. Recently, I heard you telling your cousins that
your friends were leaving on this trip, and you said, “Oh, I have anxiety. There’s
NO WAY I could take a trip to France.”
I want to acknowledge how cool it is that you know yourself
enough to say something like that. You know your limits, and you’re not afraid
to tell people about that stuff. That makes you pretty amazing, I think. I also
think that you need to give yourself credit for something else you said last
night to me. You told me that if you were the same person at the beginning of 6th
grade as you are now, you’d have fought harder to go on this trip. I agree. You
have grown in so many ways this year, and I’m glad you can see that, too. No
longer do you have bouts of panic attacks. No longer do big changes affect you
in the same ways. You’ve learned over the years to name the stuff that makes
you worried, or nervous, and that is one of the greatest gifts you can give
yourself. That’s not to say you’re done with anxiety or worrying about stuff.
Hardly. Hello, you have my DNA running through your body. It’s just to say that this is the year you figured
out how to use those tools you’ve worked so hard on to learn. I’m proud of you
for that.
For me, today has been bittersweet. Looking at photos of the
kids you’ve been in school with for the last seven years carrying luggage, and
boarding airplanes has been hard for me. One of the things we knew when we were
lucky enough to get a spot in your school was that this day would eventually be
here. We knew early on, a 2 week trip to France might be the right choice for
you, but I never thought it would be so hard for me. I think the hardest part
is this: I have one chance to make certain choices for you in your life. I have
one chance to do this mothering thing the “right” way. No one tells you how
hard it will be to make these kinds of huge decisions, and there will be plenty
of them. No one tells you that you need to be willing to sit with your crying
child at 10pm the night before this big trip, and rock her while she says how
sad it makes her that she’s not going. No one tells you how hard it will be to hear
other parent’s opinions of the choices you’ve puzzled over for years, and to
not second guess all of those hard decisions you’ve weighed so heavily.
“You’re NOT sending her?”
“She’s going to have to grow up someday!”
“She’ll be FINE.”
Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m
not ready to put you on a plane by yourself on a flight to Paris. I’m not ready
to have you spend two weeks with a family I’ll likely never meet. Maybe I don’t
think you’re quite ready to handle money, and schedules, and being away for that
long. Maybe that makes me a shitty mom. Maybe that makes me overprotective and
weird. But also? Maybe it means that your dad and I know who you were, and now you know who
you ARE. Maybe it means that someday soon you’ll be ready for something like
this. I don’t know. But, I do know this. At 12 you know yourself better than
some people will know themselves in a lifetime. I am so proud to be your mama.
