The exhaustion of thoughtfulness

While I was pregnant with my daughter ten years ago, I suspected that I would struggle to be a thoughtful mother. And, in many ways, it turns out I was right.

You see, I have to make a very concerted and conscious effort to be "thoughtful" in the way that mothers are praised for in our society. I just don't have many of the skills, drive or interest in making holidays extra magical, meals comforting and wholesome, birthday parties perfectly themed and vacations unforgettable.

All of these things require significant effort from me, beyond the financial, time, and mental resources that they cost all mothers. It's like I am working against my own programming, needing moral support as I talk through my plan to make the snack that I've been called to bring to the school picnic. Of course, the reason that I do make such an effort, is that I know that these things matter to my child.

And even while I do put in the work to be thoughtful, I have my limits. It's unlikely that you will ever find me saying "Wouldn't it be fun to MAKE our Halloween costumes this year?" Furthermore, while I know that my daughter would be so delighted to have me dress up alongside her on Halloween–I know this because she's mentioned it on several occasions– I haven't been able to bring myself to spend the time, the thinking or the money that this would require. To be honest, even if I had some extra time and money (which I do not), I imagine that this kind of thoughtfulness would still be hard for me.

I know and love plenty of moms to whom these things come more easily–I smile thinking of my one friend who always has the really GOOD snacks, or the one who makes amazing party favors that make every guest feel seen and special, or my sisters who make incredible stockings at Christmas–I feel genuine gratitude and appreciation for these moms. I love that they are good at these things, and that they enjoy them.

And I know that even though these things come more easily to them than they do to me, this does not mean that they do not have to put in real time, effort and money to make them happen. Thoughtfulness takes work.

And today I want to talk about another kind of thoughtfulness that I appreciate about these mothers, and also about other parents like myself, who don't necessarily execute thoughtfulness in ways that are as visible.

I'm talking about the kind of thoughtfulness that goes into the things that matter a lot, but are rarely seen or talked about.

I'm talking about parents who are thoughtful about the "whys" and the "hows" of what we do, in addition to–and sometimes even more than–the actual outcome.

Parents who take the time to put some good consideration into things like...

• What kind of a parent do I want to be?

• What am I up to when I ask my child how they are feeling? Am I genuinely curious and interested in them, or am I trying to extract information to settle my own nerves?

• How much should I share my values with my child explicitly? I don't want to indoctrinate them. But I also want to pass down my values and set them up to be helpful and loving people in the world.

• How much access should I give members of my family to my child? Where do I draw the line on what kinds of conversations or dynamics they are exposed to?

• How do I want my child to experience learning and education?

• How and when is the right time to talk to my child about injustice?

Just the other day in my weekly meeting with fellow parent coaches I said, "I just want to name how much work goes into being thoughtful about our lives and relationships. It's exhausting!"

As an example, I shared an anecdote about how that morning in the driveway, I realized that I had forgotten to remind my daughter to use her nose spray. "Can you run back to the house to do your nose spray while I get the car going?" I asked.

She then replied that she had remembered to use it on her own already. "Oh, cool. I'm sorry I forgot to remind you though." I said.

To which she responded with a tone and smile that seemed to want to share her satisfaction with me, "That's okay. It actually feels good to have remembered it on my own. Is that independence?"

I paused for a moment as I noticed the resistance that arose within me to the word "independence." Lately her dad has been telling her that she needs to be more independent about brushing her own hair, remembering to take her medicines, and other personal care tasks. It's an approach to self-sufficiency that I do not agree with, and has not been sitting well with me.

But besides my resistance to what I perceive to be an imposed independence from her dad, I also strongly value the idea of interdependence, and our conversation made me want to share a little about this idea with her. So as I prepared to articulate my thoughts during our car ride to school, I stopped first to make eye contact with her in the rear-view mirror and show her that I was seeing her in this moment of feeling pleased with herself and accomplished.

And then, after exchanging a few glances with her, I slowly began my response to her question of, "Is that independence?"

"Well," I said, "a lot of grown-ups tell kids to remember their own medicines or do certain things for themselves in order to learn to be independent. But I think that what you did this morning with your medicine was more like "self sufficiency". That's when you can do things for yourself and you don't need to rely on someone else to do them for you. And self sufficiency usually feels really good."

And then I checked in. "Is this getting to be too long of an answer, or do you want to hear more?"

"I want to hear more." she said.

"Well, self sufficiency can feel really good because its nice to know that you are capable of doing the things that you need to do on your own. But a lot of people think that just because you CAN do things on your own, that you SHOULD ALWAYS do things on your own. And that's not really how I think it should work. Because while we GET to do things on our own if we can and want to, we are also meant to be interdependent. Meaning, we help each other out sometimes, even if the other person is capable of doing something themselves. You know, like if you are on the sofa and watching a show and I offer to bring you something to drink. That's not because you can't get it on your own. It's because I think everyone deserves to be offered a drink instead of having to get it themselves sometimes. And also it feels good to offer things to other people, even if they can do those things for themselves. That's a part of interdependence. What do you think of that?"

"Yeah, I like that."

And while I wanted to further share my thoughts on how we all have different abilities and resources at our disposal, and that interdependence also means noticing the ways in which we and others are not self-sufficient, and finding ways to help each other meet our needs–I remembered that we could talk more at another time, and decided that I had shared enough for today.

I don't think that my answer to my daughter's question was perfect, complete, or ideal. But I know that it was damn thoughtful. I put some real consideration and effort into my words. I thought about what would be appropriate for her as I know her to be at this age. I thought about the opportunity to share a narrative around her own interest in "independence" that would help her to remain open to connection and giving and receiving help. I thought about waiting before sharing, and just pausing to appreciate her experience of the moment first–perhaps in part because I've thought about the concept of "teachable moments" and am sensitive not to fall into prioritizing the teachings of the teacher over the experience of the "learner". I thought about these and many other things.

I was also able to articulate these ideas well (enough) in that moment because in the past I have chosen to be curious and thoughtful about how people see the world. To learn from others. To question the paradigms that I grew up with and the ones that better suit my values. Years of thoughtfulness not only allowed me to have a thoughtful, age-appropriate answer, but also would not allow me to simply give a reduced and oversimplified "Yes, you are becoming so independent! Good for you!"

I relied on my thoughtfulness muscle, which healing in community has strengthened, allowing me to rely less and less on having to figure out the "right" answer to every problem on my own. But rather, being able to be in thoughtful company with others on a similar path, sharing and listening to each other as we each move forward on our own paths, together.

You see, being thoughtful about who we are to our children, about how to honor their paths as their own, and about how and when to assume the sacred responsibilities that caring for them well implies, is a ton of WORK. Work that is invisible and overlooked by a patriarchal society that dismisses these most important matters of relationship and connection.

And it is important work, that we owe to our children. Because we do owe our children this kind of thoughtfulness and consideration. For every degree of privilege or power that society gives us over another, we must be two degrees more thoughtful in how we will show up in that interaction. Society has given us the unearned privilege of teaching our children, which we must all assume with humility and great care.

And so, for every thoughtful act of silence, waiting, speaking, listening, apologizing, repairing, curating, sharing and uplifting that you do as a parent, I want to say thank you. The world needs more of this, and it needs more parents like you.

If you are like me, you are doing this hard work on top of the day to day, stress-inducing labors of family finances, health concerns and appointments, mental health priorities and the expenses that these entail, food and nourishment, challenging work environments, a healthy balance of activities, paying the rent or the mortgage, unexpected decisions to make on the spot–all at a pace and degree that can feel relentless.

If you are a mom, thank you for doing this work even as it is not only overlooked, but often criticized, minimized or ridiculed.

Really, thank you so much. This Mother's Day, and every day, I see you, I give thanks for you, and I honor you.