Where did I go wrong? What was it I did? Was it something I
said? Did I encourage this? I know it’s my fault, but I don’t know what I did.
I don’t know how to fix this.
It’s school trip week. Year 6 are off to the National trust
centre at Brancaster for five days. A few children haven’t gone. Some because
they’re new to the school, and missed the letter & instalment payments.
Some because their parents couldn’t afford the £260. And one because the letter
home about the trip came at the wrong time.
The Boy, of course. Always The Boy. The Letter about the
school trip came at a time when he was struggling. When he hated school. When
he was so unhappy, every day, that I was crying for him every morning. Thing
was, it wasn’t school that was making him unhappy, he was just troubled. Trying
to make sense of the world around him. Trying to understand how it was that one
of his best friends was going to grow up without his mother. Scared. Scared
that if it happened to his friend, it could happen to him too. And of course,
with my history, it could have happened to him, although he’s unaware of that.
Perhaps that’s why it was such a dagger through my heart, to see him try to
process that. Knowing that he came so close to losing his mother too.
It was a hard time, for me and for him. He was so unhappy.
It wasn’t really about school; it was about being away from me. He just wanted
to be close to me. The school were brilliant; I can’t speak highly enough of
them. They understood exactly what he needed, they supported him, they did so
much for him that he got his confidence back, he loves school again, he became
my silly, giggly companion once more.
But of course, there was a hangover. When The Letter
arrived, he refused, point blank, to talk about it. ‘I’m not going.’ But all
your friends will be there. ‘I’m not going.’ It’ll be a wonderful opportunity. ‘I’m
not going.’ Look at all the activities they have. ‘I’m not going.’ You’ve been
away from home before. ‘I’m not going.’ Your teachers think it’ll be ideal for
you. ‘I’m not going.’ You won’t be far away, and you can phone us. ‘I’m not
going.’ Shall we at least pay the deposit, in case you change your mind? ‘I’m
not going.’ I’m not going to force you, but at least think about it. ‘I’m not
going.’
The teacher in charge of pastoral care even phoned us to say
we needed to encourage him. ‘He’s such a lovely boy, he’s so kind, so
thoughtful, this would do so much for his confidence’ But still, ‘I’m not going.’
And because I know him, because I know myself, I knew that if I were to push
him into it, it could backfire nastily. The anxiety he’d feel, for months ahead
of the trip, would send him into a spiral of misery. So I left it. I told him
that whilst I thought he should go, I wasn’t going to make him do something he
didn’t want to. I told him that his feelings were important, and I was
listening to him. I told him that it was good he was so honest. Are you sure,
The Boy? It could be fun. ‘I’m not going.’
Until about two weeks ago. When it dawned on him that all of
his friends were going. When he realised he’d be pretty much alone in the
playground. When he’d settled into his new class with unprecedented ease. When
he’d gained a huge amount of confidence in himself, from snorkelling every day
in Spain .
From completing the (frankly, shit scary) Go Ape treetop trail in Thetford
forest. From being able to finally ride his bike. From attempting to
skateboard. He’d conquered so many fears, physical fears, and he realised he could
handle an activity holiday; he wasn’t worried about being away from me anymore.
We couldn’t really afford it. £260. But we would have found
the money, for him. Too late, though. No places left.
And now… misery. Utter misery. Tears at schooltime, tears
during school, tears when he gets home and tells me about his day, tears at
bedtime. Tears on the way to school this morning, with ‘I’ll just spend all day
CRYING’ thrown in.
I comfort. I cajole. I distract. I tell him I’m sorry, that
I know it’s rubbish, feeling left out of fun things. That it is a horrible feeling,
especially because he changed his mind about wanting to go. I say it’s only a
week, it’s not that long. I suggest fun things we can do together at the
weekend. I spend hours on the sofa, hugging him, listening to his litany of
woe. And (this is the bit where I’ll lose any sympathy you had for me) I want
to shout at him. I want to say ‘for Christ’s sake. Get some perspective. Stop
feeling so sorry for yourself. Nothing terrible has ever happened to you. You
have been surrounded by love, comfort and warmth since the day you were born.
This situation is of your own making, and YES I’m sorry that you feel so sad,
but stop fecking moping about, stop complaining about your life, and realise
you could not be more fucking privileged than you already are. Stop being so
bloody precious, stop feeling so sorry for yourself, and instead of constantly
banging on about how hard done by you are, realise that you are incredibly
fucking LUCKY.’
Of course I can’t. Of course I won’t. Not least because of
The Swears. But I’m starting to think this situation is actually because of me.
Maybe I’ve been too indulgent. Maybe I’ve been too soft. Maybe, by constantly
listening to him, validating his feelings, I’ve made him a bit too self centred.
I did it because I saw so much of myself in him, and I didn’t want him to grow
up feeling the way that I did, isolated, overlooked, unimportant. I always felt
that my feelings were never considered, and I didn’t want him to feel the same.
I didn’t want him to feel as crushed as I did.
Instead, it seems, I’ve gone the other way. I’ve created a
child who, whilst loving, sensitive, and affectionate, is also (WRITE IT) a bit
of a brat.
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8 comments:
Morning Lucy. I can't really comment as I'm not a parent but ... his story is familiar. I think I pretty much was him! [And probably for similar reasons re. being protected by my mother]. If it's any consolation, I'm less of a brat now. ;-)
And, if you're going to be affected by your parents, it might as well be because they love you so much, rather than the alternative. I put my impermeable sense of ego [in the nicest possible way!] and certainty of myself that I have - in spite of difficulties along the way - partly down to my parents letting me decide what was right for me. Even when I was wrong.
Hoping this week gets better for you all soon.
You didn't go wrong. You are a good mum and you know it. This is a learning curve for both of you. In the scheme of things this is the merest blip in both of your lives and you will both learn a great deal from it. Your little boy is in the throes of puberty with his hormones throwing his emotions in all directions. Once his friends return from the trip life will continue for him. Just love him, hug him, and reassure him, it's all you can do right now. (CW)
But what would you have taught him if you'd paid the deposit without his agreement? That his fears aren't important? That his wishes don't matter?
He's lost out, because you gave him the opportunity to make his own mistakes, which is a priceless lesson.
Plus, you get lots of opportunities to gently remind him of this regret whenever you want him to take a longer view in the future ;-)
Painful though it is for all concerned (especially for us mothers, because we are so good at piling on the guilt and never ever being able to feel we've done something right), it probably does teach something about decisions and their consequences. My 12 year old is also a real strop at the moment and I keep asking myself where I went wrong... and I've probably been too considerate and indulgent (for the same reasons you describe above). So I hear you and am keeping my fingers crossed for you and your son!
Hi Lucy,
As a Father of three (12, 3 & 1), I think you have done the correct thing. Offered the chance to go, repeated the offer and then respected his decision not to. As Marina stated, it is important to know you are loved and heard but equally important to understand that (eventually) being an adult means making decisions and that those decisions have consequences.
A child needs love, encouragement and support but also boundaries and the opportunity to learn these life lessons. In the long run, I think it will be a positive experience and will reinforce that he likes school, he has good friends that he values there, that you love and respect him but also that how he feels about things'in the moment' can change - for the better.
You've created a child. He's just doing what children do and learning lessons the hard way. You did exactly the right thing. It's a lesson he'll put to good use in the future. xx
I can so relate to this, but I think too you did the right thing but like someone has said as mothers we pile on the guilt. As parents, generally we probably consider our children's feelings far more than our parents did! We just liked it or lumped it a lot of the time. I think that this is mostly a good thing - but I do feel that sometimes I pander too much to my dd's feelings and rather than just leaving her too lump it! Lol!
Thank you, all :-) As it turned out, guess what?... He ended up having a brilliant week. Of course. He had some great projects planned by the school, he loved it, by Thursday was telling me how much fun he was having, kept in touch with his friends via the blogposts they were posting from Brancaster, and then on Friday had a huge hugging pile on in the playground with all of his friends.
He's definitely learnt a lot from this - mainly, as you guys said, that just because he felt one way nearly a year ago, doesn't mean he'll always feel that way. Having been in to see his teacher for a Parent Teacher evening last week, he feels the same way about The Boy. Important lessons learnt all round I think - The Boy knows I'll listen to him, he also knows that things change. And I've learnt not to beat myself up so much over something I can't change :-)
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