Mothers, Grown Kids, and Growing Up

On my road from having young children to having kids who are on their own, I discovered some things I find interesting in terms of not only child development, but overall personal growth and development (at least in my own case, but I'm guessing I'm not all that different from a lot of other mothers/parents). While I know I can't speak for all mothers/parents of grown kids, and while I know that there are often differences between one individual and another, I've written this Hub in the hopes of helping at least a person or two understand some mothers of sons and/or daughters in the 18- to 24- year old range. This Hub is about growing pains.

The First Child Turns 18 – A New Frontier, A New Kind of Insecurity

I discovered one thing on my road from having young children to having kids who are on their own (at least in my own case), and I find it kind of interesting in terms of child development/human development and Nature:

Before having my own kids who were 18 years old; and from only the standpoint of recalling being 18, myself, or else from the "legal-age perspective", when my first son reached 18 I didn't feel ready to "let go" in my head and heart. He was an independent kid, so it wasn't a matter of what he or I did as far as who did laundry or who prepared what meals went. "On the outside" it looked as if he was being his independent self, and as if I was fine with it all. On the inside, I was secretly conflicted, because I wasn't really all that OK with some of his choices. I knew I had no right to offer opinions or to speak about something like worrying about one of his friends or another, and I knew I had no right to try to interfere. So, I kept my own worries and concerns a secret, and I also kept asking myself if this was "as good as it's going to get" as far being able to truly let go went.

In my head, I knew that mothers are supposed to let go at some point, and I even asked myself if, maybe, I had an unhealthy sense of responsibility, or even caring, when it came to my son. I talked with family members or friends about how we felt about our kids of that age, and they pretty much seemed to feel the same way I did. That's when I just told myself that all mothers of grown kids probably have this "conflict thing" going on (and, boy, was it a difficult inner conflict to live with when I could clearly, clearly, see that my son made some choice that - really - wasn't the wisest, and that was a choice he made out of being young or being a little carried away with his new-found "adulthood". To be honest, some of the things did or thought made me scared to death for his own future and health.

If there was ever a parent who is about as far from "controlling" as any parent/person could ever be, I've always been that parent. Still, what I'd watched happening in the couple of years right before my first turned eighteen was his (naturally, and rightfully) becoming more and more anxious to be able to do whatever he wanted, without my having any "right" to offer any opinions, or to try to stop him. So, like a lot of kids (and, laws or no laws, eighteen really IS still a kid - not a child, and not a young child - but a kid nonetheless), my son waited to be eighteen to do some things, and then it seemed as if he was a little carried away with all that freedom that being eighteen allows.

In any case, I wasn't comfortable with some of his choices or ways of thinking; and I wasn't comfortable about the fact that I couldn't just be at peace with knowing he was a "grown-up" and "just let go" (again, in my head and heart). I got used to living with my mostly secret inner-conflict and accept that being a mother of a grown kid was going to be "so much worse" than being the mother of younger kids. As my son hit 19 my inner conflict was still there, and it certainly did seem as if turning 19 had magically launched him into the kind of choice-making I secretly wished he'd adopt.

Some of the "18-year-old thinking" my son had had did gradually change somewhere between when he was, maybe, 19 and 22; but there was still that matter of my secretly and silently paying attention to his choices, and secretly and silently worrying that he'd make the wrong ones. What I did notice, though, was that my own "secretly remaining in a mother mode" did ease up a little as my son got past 21 and closer to 22. It occurred to me that 22 is the age when most college kids graduate. At the time, there was a lot of talk about how, in companies, employers were often requiring a four-year degree of applicants for jobs that might otherwise not particularly require it. It was common to hear discussions about how some employers required that degree just as a way of aiming to get applicants who "at least showed the ability to finish school", but also who were "at least not 18 and straight out of high-school". In my pondering the fact that I did, in fact, seem "a little better" when it came to the letting-go "in my head" thing, it occurred to me that maybe 22, not 18, was the age when parents started to more feel as if their son or daughter was an adult. Maybe it was true that 18 really is still too young to expect parents to let go.

I knew a lot of that conflict I'd had when my son was 18 had lessened, and I was grateful to realize that it was no longer "anywhere near that bad", now that he was 22. I thought, "OK, so now this is how it is to be the parent of a grown kid. It's still rough, when it comes to worrying about them; butit's nowhere as bad as it was when he was 18." Still believing there was no such thing as ever truly letting go, I settled into my new stage as a mother; ever grateful for the fact that I was nowhere as "bad" as I'd been when my son was 18. In a way, I wrote it all off to just getting used to his being an adult. It was that simple, though. I'd never felt I needed to get used to his being grown-up. My conflict was over some of the choices he made, and he was still making some worrisome choices when he was 22. I saw all the ways in which my son was a strong, independent, sensible, and caring person. I saw all the ways he'd be so grown-up and wise from the time he was a very, very, little boy. It wasn't that I didn't see all the things about him that would make any mother so, so, proud. It was just that I was also seeing some of his youthful thinking and choices. I wasn't wrong to worry on his behalf. I knew they were his choices to make, and that I couldn't do anything about them. It was just that, on the inside, I could see those choices weren't always the wisest; and there is absolutely no way, when a mother loves her son or daughter, that she's going to be able to be at peace with choices she fears could potentially create problems for her grown child.

In any case, my son's having gotten a little older meant he was making fewer of those 18-year-old-thinking choices, so that helped.

What I noticed about how I felt when my son got to be past 23 was that I'd gradually become less and less conflicted, because I'd also gradually been able to, more and more, let go of even worrying about what choices he made. The worry was still there, but the thinking about the worry had died down some. I'd gotten to a point where I knew he was a "good, solid, 23" (not anywhere near 18 at that point), even if choices sometimes didn't look all that solid to me. I guess I knew, in my head, that there's a point where a mother has to truly figure out how to stop worrying about her child's choices and be OK with doing that. When my son was 23, I realized how much I'd changed since those days when he was 18 or 19. I still worried about him and knew I always would. I guess the difference may have been, though; that while I once had kept hoping he wouldn't make some choices, I'd reached a point where I knew I had to stop thinking about his choices at all, and be at peace with whatever consequences he'd face as a result of any given choice.

I still worried that he'd bring unnecessary, negative, consequences on himself; but I guess I'd "dialed it back some" when it came to feeling as if I wanted to try to prevent him from making some choices but couldn't (because he was over 18). I'd settled into a place where I felt as if I'd let go 75% (which, of course, is mostly). "23" sounded like a definitely "adult age", although it felt to me as if it was as young as anyone could be without crossing back over that line into being a "non-grown-up" again. I told myself that there were other mothers' sons and daughters younger than my own, sent to Iraq. Basically, I wasn't anywhere near as "bad" as I'd been when my son was 18 or 19, but I was "way, way, better".

Subsequent Children Turn 18 – A Pattern Seems to Emerge

By the time my son was 24, I was almost at peace with the degree to which I'd let go "on the inside". He was a grown-up. 24 seemed so clearly so much more grown-up sounding and seeming than even 23 did. I'd seen how the letting go process (even with my own insecurities about my earlier difficulties with hit) has just kind of happened naturally. I knew my son's 25 birthday was the next one. I had a kind of peace that I'd not had in years (at least with regard to the conflict over not being entirely able to let go with this son).

My younger son was 19 at that time, and I wasn't far into the whole letting go process with him; although with its being my second time to go through it, I didn't worry that my inability to completely let go when he hit 18 was a sign that I was showing signs of something less than healthy. With each year that my younger son was between 18 and 24/25, I discovered that I was pretty much doing the same thing I'd done with older brother.

Having not entirely come around to believing I wasn't a late-bloomer as far as letting go went, I had at least come around to realize that I would eventually do the kind of letting go that felt more, to me, what the grown-up of a grown child ought to be. Not being sure I wasn't a late bloomer, at least I was confident that I'd get there before any grown child got to 25.

With my elder son being over 25, and my younger son being 21 and graduated from college, by the time my daughter (and youngest child) turned 18, I'd seen how the letting-go process had unfolded for me (and unfolded naturally, even if slowly) twice before. While I was (almost) perfectly satisfied with knowing that the letting-go process would take place on its own (but gradually), beginning from when each child turned 18 (and was out of high school and into college; or, in my daughter's case, planning to start the following semester); I was also aware that I wasn't able to let go as quickly as any 18-year-old would like. It was no different with my daughter, but at least by the time she was 18 I was able to tell her she could be confident in knowing I'd get better at completely letting go. I have no doubts that imagining a time (a few years down the line) when one's mother will finally let go isn't all that encouraging for an 18-year-old.

All I could hope (any time I exhibited a little more "mother-y-ness" than either of my younger kids would have preferred) was that each of my newly grown kids would understand that I, too, was in the process of growing as a human being.

Firmly Entrenched of Having More than One Child in the 18-24 Range – Tuning In A Little More to the Science of Maturation, Nature, Skeletons, and All Things Growing Up

Somewhere between having my first 18-year-old son and my third 18-year-old child, I'd both seen (in a PBS special on the brain) and read (wherever I could find something on it) that the human brain isn't completely developed "until early- to mid- twenties". Before then I'd also seen/read that the human skeleton doesn't reach full maturity until then as well. A lot things kind of fell into place (at least in terms of my own being at peace with the rate at which my letting-go process seemed to take place). It struck me that, although kids are just about all through growing up at 18, the process of reaching "full maturity" doesn't really take place until the years between 23 and 25.

I started to think about kittens and puppies reach full size by one year old, but how it takes them that extra, second, year before a lot of them seem to really calm down and before they seem to fill out and look really mature. I began thinking about how we can often tell the difference between a young-looking 25-year-old man and a younger, male adult, is in that slightly difference in the size/look of their skeleton/skull.

After pondering any number of things in life that supported the idea that 18-year-olds just, plain, aren't as grown-up/mature as a lot of people think they are (or as the laws suggest), I stopped asking myself if I was a late bloomer when it came to the letting-go process, and I began feel more secure in the fact that it seemed my letting-go process had gone right along with the natural grown/development process that takes place between a young person's 18th and 24th/25th birthdays (depending, I suppose, on the young person, the circumstances, and the mother).

Not All Circumstances Are Equal. Neither Are All Worries.

With regard to circumstances, what I realized was that, for me, having a 17- or 18-year-old move away in order to live at school meant seeing something very positive in their move away from home. While I wasn't deluded into believing they wouldn't have much freedom at school, I felt a little better to know that there would still be some limited structure, rules, and incentives for them not to "go to wild" (although, of course, there are all kinds of "going wild", even in kids who have solid careers plans; and more than one college kid has flunked out, or quit, because he wasn't quite able to reign in his urges to sow wild oats and, instead, do the studying he needed).

In any case, I was far more comfortable in knowing each child was moving out to go to college than I would have been in a situation where one moved out at 18 and without signs of education or training that would allow him to support himself comfortably, and without having to rely on having roommates, or at least having to rely on living in low-rent neighborhoods. It can be easier, I think, for parents to let go when they aren't worried that this child is taking a step in a direction that will "dig him into a hole" from which he'll have a particularly hard time to climb. There are any number of situations that can make the mother of an eighteen-year old worry and have a hard time not doing so; and even if a mother keeps quiet about her worries, her son or daughter usually senses she has them, and usually wonders why she won't just let go.

Another example might be something like drinking. It may be easier for the mother of 18-year-old to "back off" , even if the drinking age is 21, if she knows the drinking is with pals on a Friday night; than it might be for the mother of a 20-year-old to know her son or daughter regularly drinks alone in his room. It's also easier to back off if the drinking doesn't involving driving somewhere in order to drink. Some concerns over something like drinking in some situations are things most mothers might have trouble with, no matter how old the son or daughter is. With other concerns, it can be easier to trust that a 24-year-old has more sense at 24 than he may have at 19.

Something like a 19-year-old's getting body art might be another example. It may be easier to back off and let go if one's 18-year-old daughter gets a tiny tattoo on her ankle, than it is if a 22-year-old suddenly gets a bunch of "big, dramatic" tattoos. People old enough to have grown kids usually recall how, at 22, they thought one way; and how, in the decade(s) that followed, they changed in preferences and thinking. A 22-year-old may be certain he'll never change his thinking and preferences, but mothers often recall how they felt that way at 22, as well. In this situation, the circumstance of the permanence of tattoos (along with knowing there's the chance a person may change his thinking) may make a mother less able to back off; while a small ankle tattoo isn't something she'd see as "the end of the world" should her son or daughter, in fact, decide s/he regrets the tattoo.

The point is, in those years between 18 and 24/25, there are any number of situations/circumstances that seem to make it obvious to all involved that a mom just doesn't seem to have realized her son or daughter is now grown up. "Seem" can, however, be the operative word here. Much of the time when it seems a mother doesn't know her son or daughter is grown up, that's not necessarily the case. It's that, even though she is more than aware her child is grown, and even though she recalls being his/her age, she knows her grown child is still young (and, of course, she recalls being his/her age). Some mothers (perhaps more than others) and some situations (certainly more than others) can exist in a constant state of inner conflict, questioning oneself and whether one is respecting her child's grown state. There are times when expressing such conflict to a grown son or daughter may help. There are times when expressing it isn't something a mother wants to do, or believes would be the healthiest thing for her relationship with her son or daughter. It "ain't easy", as they say; but (at least for mothers who are like I was) with each year that moves a child one year away from being eighteen, and a year closer to 24 or 25, a whole lot of inner and outer conflict seems to dissolve away (usually because the young adult either outgrows some things, or else because his mother just kind of naturally knows he's reached an age when his choices (and the consequences that arise from them) are his, and only his.

Rome Wasn’t Built in A Day (I Wish I Could People 18-24 That It Was - But It Just Wasn't.)

It doesn't happen (at least for a lot of mothers) as quickly as a lot of 18-year-olds think it should, but it does happen. A lot of 18- and 23-year old people are understanding enough of their late-bloomer mother than they overlook a lot of her thinking, and her apparent inability to completely back off/let go. A lot may vow to be better parents of grown kids if/when they have kids, and when those kids get to be 18 or 20. That's, of course, how newly grown adults think. It can even be how 30-year-olds think. Sometimes, it might even be how a 40-year-old whose child is ten thinks; and this is when some of the most mature, set-in-their-middle-aged-beliefs, 40-years may later (once they're 48, and their child is 18) finally start to understand their own mother - and finally know how it feels to be "of two minds", one of which knows how old a son or daughter is, and the other of which isn't quite able to stop worrying, stay hands-off, and remain silent when some things go on.

What it comes down to, when a grown (but young) child feels as if his mother doesn't realize he's grown up, can be that one of those "minds" sees how old the individual is, sees how smart he is, sees how responsible and sensible is, and generally sees all the wonderful things he is. It's just that other of those "minds" that cause a mother's inner struggles knows that while her child is definitely grown, he does, in reality, remain young - and therefore thinks the way someone that young tends to think.

Contrary to what an awful lot of young people think about parents, it's probably the case that for (maybe) most parents, it's never a matter of trying to control their son's or daughter's life. Contrary to what so many people (either young, or those who haven't gone through having their own child reach 18 or 20) believe, it's not necessarily a matter of not seeing the adult a child has turned into. It's sometimes more about knowing he's still new at "this adult thing" (just as his mother is), and being in the same kind of developmental-muddling stage that he is.

My Latest Stage of “Parent Development” (Which is kind of like “child development” – only with a lot more confidence, a lot less confidence, a lot of unimaginable worries, and a few fine lines under the eyes.

My youngest child has now reached her mid-twenties. I've gone it through the whole process I've described for the last time (I think). Being a mother who has finished going through that process for a couple of years now, is yet a new stage of development in my life too. The way it has felt to me is that I've crossed some line from having not-completely-grown kids to having nothing but grown kids; and as I begin my journey from just this side of that line, the whole experience of being the mom of younger kids remains very fresh in my mind. The line, for me, is something I'd compare to the 18th birthday: We see it coming. We reach it. We get on the other side of it. We have a sense that something is finished, and we've reached a completely new place - just by crossing a line, or crossing off a date on a calendar.

It's funny how, no matter where we are in life, we always feel as if we've finally reached being completely finished with any maturation or growing-up processes, only to discover later that there was yet more growing to do.

It hasn't been that long since I've had rock music, guitars, and tons of hair accessories in one place or another in my house; and it hasn't been that long since I've attended high-school performances or worried about 16-year-old drivers. So, whenever I've been with other mothers, or been talking about being a mother, for a long time I've just kind of felt like one of them - only one of the ones whose kids were teenagers. It seemed to me as if getting a child from zero to grown-up was all part of the same journey. It was just a matter of having reaching different milestones.

Somewhere in the last couple of years, I've seen myself moving farther and farther away from where I, as a mother, once was; and closer and closer to that line that, to me, marked the shift from "mother with younger kids" to "mother of only completely grown kids". The whole transition was gradual, of course, but I hadn't really seen any signs of truly letting go over where I , as a mother and as person, was (even if I'm confident in my having reached that stage when I more than know that I my daughter is a full-fledged adult). On the hand, I haven't noticed anything empty-feeling about my new "place" as a mother. On the other hand, I guess, if I think about how I've felt (as far as "where I used to be" and "where I am now" goes), I do think about how, maybe, "empty nests" aren't always just about houses with fewer people living in them. Sometimes, I guess, they can be about mentality (even for those who haven't felt all that "empty" about the change).

Of Grocery-Store Merry-Go-Rounds and Quarters

A funny thing happened yesterday, though. It happened that I spent a little time with my niece's almost-3-year-old daughter, and she was going to ride the horse and the merry-go-round outside the grocery store. With a handful of quarters, I lifted her up on the horse (that I think has been outside that store since before I was her age), put in the quarter, and she happily got whatever thrill there is to get from riding one of those grocery-store horses. When it came time for her to ride the merry-go-round, I realized that I didn't know where the quarter was supposed to go. I said, "I don't know where the quarter goes," and the 2-and-a-half year-old with cropped red curls and two pink hair-bows showed me where the quarters go. Even then I had to figure out which side of the red-metal box had the coin slot in it.

As I looked for where, exactly, the quarters goes, it just kind of hit me in the head: "Wow. It sure HAS been a LONG time!" The realization kind of made me smile, because until that "quarter moment" I guess I hadn't realized how far past that line between "still having young kids" and "having only grown kids" I've come. Here, more than just a few inches over that line, I've been thinking I'm just starting out on this journey into this new part of my life. The quarter incident seemed to highlight the fact that, as it turns out, I've been on the other side of that line a lot longer than I'd realized. Suddenly (and I don't know why it took me this long), it struck me that there's no line. There's only a journey - one journey, and one journey we take one step, one birthday, one dilemma, one crisis, and one joy at a time.

As with 18th, 21st, or even 40th birthdays, there are no crossing points or dramatic cut-off dates. It's all just that one journey, and we all just keep growing and maturing - no matter how grown-up and mature we feel. One day, we just wake up and realize that somehow we've gotten a certain distance along the journey, and we don't even really know how it is we got there so quickly (or so slowly, depending on what parts of the journey we're thinking about).

As I found that slot where the quarter went, it just hit me that I'd actually discovered myself with my feet firmly among those parents who have only grown children. For a moment I entertained the idea that I must certainly have finished growing as a parent at this point (even if they don't make Hallmark cards for merry-go-round/quarter moments). I thought of the "me" I was when my kids were much younger, and I thought, "Wow, Self. How you've grown." With a little more thought, and with thinking about people like grandparents, parents of married kids, and parents of 50-year-olds; I reminded myself that, out there in the world, there are people who look at me and see how little I know, and how more more growing I have to do.

These are things I wish 18-year-olds and 24-year-olds could keep in mind when they're not quite understanding why their mother says or does one thing or another. They're also the things I wish those 18-, 24-, and even 45- year-olds would keep in mind when they believe they're completely grown up. Maybe it took me longer to figure all this out than it takes other people. Maybe I'm a late bloomer. All I know is that I finally did figure out at least this much, and I'd sure hate to waste those decades of figuring things out by not getting some of what I figured out into writing.

Someone where I used to work had a bumper sticker stuck on a cubicle wall, and it said, "Be patient with me. God isn't finished with me yet." As I think about this whole "growing-as-a-mother" thing, I can't help but recall that cubicle-sticker. It's clear to me now that I never needed to worry about whether I'd ever really be able to see my grown kids as completely grown-up, or whether I'd ever really feel, in my heart, they were. It all came as naturally as so many other aspects of being a mother comes for most mothers. The problem can be that if it takes this long, this many children, and a merry-go-round/quarter incident to figure out how mothers get from one part of the journey to another, that sure leaves a lot of people in the world who aren't going to be able to understand mothers of 18-year-olds, or how the whole "growing-as-a-mother thing" works (at least not for quite awhile).

The thoughts here are just the kind of stuff I hope a few more people may come to understand, because sometimes even the surest and most confident of mothers can feel pretty insecure in a world that so frequently doesn't seem to understand.