The thing no one tells you about being a Parent

I’d like to start this post with a disclaimer, dear Reader. While this post is about parenting, it is not just for parents. It may give you a bit of insight into what it means to be a parent, and it may even help you see your parents in a new light. Otherwise, I’ll catch you on the next one… Here we go…

Have you ever had one of those moments? You know the ones. Where the whole world starts to slow down. It’s almost as if your mind is trying to capture the moment you are in at maximum megapixels. A couple of weeks ago, I was playing with our little girl out in the driveway, and she was riding her bike, laughing as I chased her. I was trying my best, but also my worst, to catch her (nudge nudge, wink wink). And as I stopped to catch my breath, not because I had to, but because I wanted to give her a lead (and that’s the story I’m sticking with). That was the moment. Watching her at the height of joy, knowing that right here, right now, I was glimpsing a little piece of heaven. And then came the thought: “You’re going to break my heart, aren’t you?” Because that’s what parenting is. It’s pouring your entire life, your whole heart into this little person, knowing that they will grow, and eventually leave us, and probably make decisions we would not have made. And then doing it anyway…

A while back, Maya (the love of my life) and I, discovered that our little girl has some sensory challenges. She has big emotions. She loves hug-tackling us off of our feet. And often doesn’t know her own strength. She’s loud, she’s brilliant, she’s funny, she’s ours! There are days when we are overwhelmed by the realities of raising our unique little snowflake. Days when we fall into bed feeling abused and defeated. But most days, we are just deeply thankful that this is the little girl we were given to raise.

I grew up in trauma. I know what it is to be misunderstood and overlooked. I know what it is to feel like a burden to your parents, and to feel like your needs don’t matter to the point where you no longer make them known. And I know what it is to struggle because you’re “wired different.” But the beautiful thing about growing up that way is that I can understand some of what she feels. That my wife and I can raise her in a different kind of family from that in which I was raised. That she will be heard, feel understood, know that she is deeply important to us and know that she is loved with a greater love than we ever thought possible.

That said, what do we do on the days when we feel like we are drowning, dear Readers? When we have failed completely? And when we are sure our child will be talking about this day in therapy when they’re older? (Let’s face it, you can be the best parent in the world, and your child will probably still have something to unpack with their therapist someday.) Well, on those days, I like to remind myself of these three things:

Firstly, there is no such thing as a perfect child, but they have been made perfectly.
Even in their imperfections, they are beautiful. And yes, we will be challenged. But we need to ask ourselves what God intended when He made them, and have Him reveal to us who they are. Not who we wish they would be, or want them to be. Who they are! And we need to learn to love that person. So often we think there is instant connection. And often, yes, our love for our child starts and then grows. But just like in marriage, where we had to come to accept the best and the very worst in our spouses, we don’t realise that the same will be true of our children. They will have great qualities, but they will also have imperfections. And while we take it on ourselves to square away as many of those as we can, we need to accept that they will never be perfect. We can only do our best and trust that Jesus (and a great therapist) will do the rest.  It’s funny to me that we live with imperfection in our own lives, but often expect our kids to have none. What would it look like to accept that your child may not be good at Math, may never be a doctor or a lawyer, may even grow up to be – gasp – an artist. And wouldn’t you rather be the one cheering them on as they figure it all out, gently nudging them in the right direction as they do? Do this, and maybe there’ll be a greater chance they’ll want to be around you when they grow up.

Secondly, there is no such thing as a perfect parent, but you are the perfect parent for your child.
If you’re doing it right, it will be hard. I have a healthy mistrust for the parent who says parenting is easy. Parenting is messy. It’s being up to your elbows in diapers and throw up, it’s holding your baby close when they’re soaked in wee, comforting them as they cry. It’s watching their independence grow as they want to do everything themselves. And it’s saying goodbye to the cot, and the potty, to the onesies and bum shuffles (Bluey!!!) as they trade them for dresses and dolls, for makeup and first pecks on the cheek – which, by the way, my daughter has already had (I will kill that boy!). It’s making mistakes, and seeing your child’s horrified face on the day you finally break, after weeks of no sleep and shouting at them for the monumental mess they’ve made as they poured their milkshake out over your R30000 laptop, just to see what would happen. True story! It’s cuddling them close as you apologise to them, and they cup your face saying, “It’s OK, Daddy, I forgive your sorry.” It’s crawling into your bed at night, wondering if you’ve done enough or spent enough time with your kids. If they will have good memories of how you’ve raised them, or bad ones. Because the honest truth is that as much as they are going to break our hearts, we’re going to break theirs as well. Parenting is wondering how all those perfect Instagram parents manage to do it all. Let me tell you a little secret: they don’t. We see 7 minutes of their day, and they choose to share with us the best parts. Any of us can be a perfect parent for 7 minutes. But the relentless grind of every day, in and out. The work of it, and the joy of it. That is hard. And we will fail. But in those moments when we feel like we must be the worst parent in the world, we must remember the truth. God gave our kids to us to raise. Not someone else. He knew that with His help, we could give this little person everything they would need to thrive. And some days, that has to be enough. Some days, I just have to say: “God, I didn’t do a great job of modelling your love for my child today, help me to do better tomorrow. Strengthen me, and give me wisdom to know how to parent this little person well and to help them become all that you have intended for them.” And then to shake it off, to go to sleep, and to try again tomorrow.

Lastly, Parenting is a marathon, not a sprint.
Parenting is not about any one moment. It’s daily decisions to love your perfectly imperfect, complicated child for who they are. It’s messing up, and realising that tomorrow you all get to try again. It’s looking for help when you’re out of your depth, and it’s consciously deciding who you invite to sit around your table as you raise your kids. We don’t have a very large village. My parents have passed. My wife’s parents live quite far away, so we try to get to them once a month. Our friendship group is small, with most of our friends living overseas. And our list of babysitters is dwindling, with many of them having moved away. We know that our village will grow again, and that future seasons will look different. But I’m not going to lie to you, it’s been hard. There are seasons where Maya and I go on dates, just to sit quietly together, holding each other’s hands and enjoying the silence. There are times when we look at each other and go: “I remember you.” And there are other times when I look at her and say: “I wouldn’t want to raise this four-nado with anyone else.” My encouragement to all of us as we parent our children is this. Hang in there! You’re doing better than you think, and God wants to help you win at this parenting thing. Trust Him, trust your instincts and find your village, however small.

As I end this, I’d like to say something to new or prospective parents: The first year may be tough – it may not. You learn to die to self, and you learn that you’re probably more selfish than you thought. Sleep deprivation and stress will take their toll. But you will make it through! And as the all-consuming little person starts to grow, you and your spouse will find each other again in those new spaces. But can I ask something of you? Decide now to prioritise your relationship with your spouse, but also decide that you will not make any drastic decisions regarding your marriage in the first two years of that little person’s life – you just are not in your right mind – parenting is relentless and tiring. We fought more than we’d ever fought in that first year of having Auri. I’ve heard so many stories of marriages ending in those first two years, and deep regrets that followed. If you’re drowning, get help, go see someone. If you don’t know where to go, drop me an email and I’ll make some recommendations. Find support in Godly friends who will talk you off the ledge, but most of all, stay connected to God, because at the end of the day, you just can’t do this without Him.

Our children may break our hearts. We will definitely break theirs. But each season has its’ sweet and its’ sour. Find the sweet, focus on that, and know that the sour will pass. I’m praying for you in the journey, and would love to hear from you. Drop me a comment, share with someone who needs it, or send me an email and I’ll get right back to you. You’ve got this…