One of my favorite times of the year is our annual family summer road trip. My husband, an incredible planner, has created itineraries over the years that have brought us to almost every continental state and some amazing places in Canada.
Somewhere, our boys, who are now in their solid teenage prime, have traded in the affinity of hours on their iPads from one destination to another, for hours exploring backroads and hikes in places we never imagined we’d get to.
Their love of adventure and exploration is something I admire, and I know these trips cultivate those traits more and more each year. My husband’s goal has always been to spend a few days in each place, across a few weeks each year, and it works. Then, we can decide which places we love and want to spend more time revisiting across the course of our lives.
We’ve seen a lot in our travels over the years
We’ve seen so much over these years. And, while my perfect trip would be to spend every minute in a city or by the beach, the rest of my family has developed a strong affinity toward national parks and mountainous terrain.
So this year, when we let them choose the area they wanted to revisit, it was no surprise that they opted for somewhere that is heavily populated with snow capped peaks and high altitude adventures.
And sadly, that terrifies me. It didn’t used to. And, I wish it didn’t. Back in the day, I loved adventure.
I was the first one to climb the mountain. Peer over the edge at the peak, marveling at the feeling of living on top of the world.
I was the one in line over and over again for the roller coasters that went upside down and sideways. Shrieking in delight as my stomach dropped with the thrill of the fall.
I was the first to hop on the horse ready for an adventure through the woods. Relishing the feel of the wind whipping through my hair as the trot turned into a gallop and the gallop turned into a run.
As the years have passed so has my love of adventure
Funny thing though-as the years have passed by, my love of adventure has somehow been overtaken by the anxieties that seem to just be multiplying in my perimenopausal, middle aged brain. Somewhere along the way, freedom turned to fear, and fear turned to inhibition in participating in all of these adventures that build a life. And, the truth is, I know exactly when that somewhere along the way was.
The moment I became a mom I had the first realization that there is so much I don’t have control over in life. That realization shook me to my core. Add in the fact that my first experience as a parent was loss. Delivering a stillborn son placed me on a trajectory of parenting anxiety that I have worked hard for 18 years to untangle from. The root of my anxieties is crystal clear.
I want my kids to enjoy the world as I stand knee deep in my anxieties
It’s such a hard thing to figure out though. Wanting to be present for everything, and knowing what that does to me internally-and consequently what it does to my kids outwardly when my own anxieties get in the way of the excitement of the world in front of them.
I wish they knew me when I lived more freely. Didn’t let so many fears stand as obstacles to the experiences I want to enjoy with them.
I’m constantly navigating the balance of letting my kids be the adventurous explorers that I want them to be- and that I know they are- while standing knee deep in a pool of my own fear of something unimaginable happening to them.
Looking back at photos, I can visibly see the haze of doubt around anything that I thought might somehow be too risky. One hand gripping the back of their shirt too tightly while they tried to breathe in the magnificent views. Videos with my voice like a broken record reminding them to take three steps back from the edge. To get down from there. To be careful.
The only version of me my kids know is the cautious one
I know that it’s exhausting. For me. And really, mostly for them. And it breaks my heart to know that that’s the only version of me that they know.
As they’ve gotten older, I’ve tried to do better at pushing myself out of the discomfort and back into the spaces of remembering that my hope as a parent is to nurture them to be rooted in exploration and resilience. I want them to do all the things that feel carefree- and also exercise caution while doing them.
They can’t learn how to do this if I hold them back. And, I’m also not modeling it if I don’t begin to knock down the wall of anxiety that I have built around these experiences. But it’s hard. And so much easier on paper than in practice.
I need to try to control my own anxiety to let them flourish
So as we head off on our next family adventure- technically the last one of my oldest son’s childhood years, I’m committed to working hard to build a newer version of me that shows glimpses of the version of me I’d like them to meet. The one who doesn’t cower at the bottom of the mountain mid panic attack, but maybe makes it up at least halfway before heading back down. The one who takes 3 steps back to let them enjoy the view, without telling THEM to be the ones to retreat.
The one who breathes in the magic of their lens of the world opening up, and sits beside them while they take it all in.
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