Trust It Will Be Enough

Parenting is one of those tasks that is never done and never feels good enough. I feel as though I am failing on an hourly basis and if it weren’t for a few bright moments every now and then I don’t know how I would continue to endure.

The passage of time is a strange and disturbing thing as I realize that my youngest is approaching seven and I can’t lie to myself anymore. He is not the baby, the toddler, or even the preschooler. My oldest is thirteen and she is suddenly as tall as me and both very sure of herself and yet completely insecure.

I remember all the times I didn’t engage because I was too tired or too busy. I keep thinking there would be more time later. Even now, as I’m in yet another season of increased busyness, I feel like I don’t have time to slow down and engage.

When they were little, I was never great at play, but even now as they have gotten older, I’m not much better. Because most of what I do is work of one kind or another and most of my leisure activities are solitary out of necessity. (Both because the things I do are meant to be solo but also because my introvert soul is dying most days and if I don’t feed it it will give up the ghost and then we’re all in trouble.)

I try to embrace moments. Spontaneous hugs even when I want to crawl out of my skin. Random conversations in the car, even when I’d rather be quiet. Spending a few extra silly minutes even when the to-do list calls.

Will it be enough?

Will they understand that the hours I spent educating them, working part-time to pay for their therapies and activities, and keeping their living environment reasonably clean was all from love?

Will they realize that I made them do chores not just because there is more work than I can do alone but because I need to prepare them for life? Will they ever notice the hours of planning and work that go into each deceptively simple family meal with all the complications of food limitations and preferences (many of which are conflicting)?

Should I tell them that I spent the last decade afraid I was losing myself and that I feel guilty for any moment I invest in myself and that as they’ve gotten older and their issues more complicated I have less time for myself, not more? That I would give it all up for them and yet I’m plagued by worry that someday they’ll walk out the door and never return and I’ll be left a shell of a person?

Maybe they won’t notice or care about any of those things.

I have to trust that it will be enough. That all my efforts, imperfect as they are will be good enough to get them ready. That they won’t look back on their childhood and my parenting as the worst thing that ever happened to them. To believe that this wasn’t all just a huge cosmic joke of a mistake to attempt this impossible task called parenting.

I’ll drive myself crazy with regret which keeps me trapped in that which I cannot change. Or paralyze myself with worry and get stuck unable to move forward (as if I really have a choice, time waits for no one).

But maybe, just maybe, it will be enough.