When my son graduated from high school, it was indeed a celebratory day. There were times throughout his high school career when I wasn’t sure (ahem– I was convinced) that he wouldn’t make it to graduation.
He hated school. He is a free spirit, cunningly smart, creative, and rule resistant. High school was a miserable experience for him. This was hard for me. I loved high school. I loved teaching high school. However, my son has repeatedly taught me, that he is not me. Our experiences were never meant to be the same.
I was 18 when I found out I was pregnant with him, my greatest, tiniest teacher. Even though I was young, I was particularly careful and strategic in creating a life for him that enabled him to have every opportunity to be successful.
I had a little problem though. I had a very finite definition of what HIS success should look like: be a star athlete, join every club, study abroad, make stellar grades, and GO TO COLLEGE! I was deeply hurt that he didn’t need for his success to match the one that I defined for him. It hurt to let go of correlating being a good mother to having a stack of college acceptance letters. I thought I would be absolved from the stigma of being a teen mom if my son could fit into a pre-determined mold that I made for him.
I was disappointed that he decided to go to college. He didn’t even consider it ever, not seriously. He did a one-day stint in community college, which confirmed his severe disdain of formal education. In many ways, I felt like a failure. I also felt shame and disappointment. I was angry. Education is critically important to me and my husband. We are both first generation college grads, and both went on to earn advanced degrees. Education was our ticket.
I longed to take him to visit colleges and to attend parent weekends. I missed not buying an “I’m a UNC Chapel Hill Mom” sweatshirt and matching bumper sticker. I grieved for his missed opportunity to stabilize and enlighten his life. I still worry about his future and how he will support himself. The rationalist in me is partial to a college degree; the realist in me knows that one is not necessary to be happy and healthy. Depending on the day, I vacillate between my grief of unrealized expectation and joy from honoring my son for who he is.
My son is my greatest teacher. He is teaching me about living a life that is set to his own drumbeat and not the one that thrums in my head. He is joyful in his life in a way that he never was when he was in a formal learning environment. He is carefree with his life and time in ways that I have never been relaxed enough to enjoy.
It isn’t easy to dismiss expectation and face reality much less celebrate it. I found that I had to for my son’s sake and for the long-term health of our relationship. It might have been easier with more support and less judgement. If you find yourself talking to a mom like me, here’s some advice!
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