When two of my teenage daughters head to SF for a concert halfway dressed, as the young folk do, I hold my anxiety in my gut like an anchor until they arrive back home.
Nagging words exchanged before they leave (where will you be, where will you park, when does it start, when does it end) make no mind neither here nor there, as I demand they hug me goodbye. After all, it could be the very last time I see them. Moms don’t play - these are the real live thoughts that cross our minds. And I would much rather feel guilty for asking them to bring a jacket to cover up a little for the mile trek to the venue (in San Francisco), VS body shaming them while we are busy dismantling the Patriarchy. (IMHO women should feel free to wear what they want when they want how they want, without being cat called, stalked, or touched. But you and I both know, that’s not how this world spins).
As much as I long for them to wield my mama bear protection and wear it like armor, they refuse. Each must have her own unique experience much like one makes a salad at the Sizzler. Would you like romaine lettuce or spinach? Croutons or tortilla strips? Tomatoes and cucumbers or just shredded carrots?
I must deeply lean into trust and let these girls make their own decisions, even if it means loving them as they walk out the door in a corset. I’m not sure I’m strong enough but I am trying.
They arrive home by 12:45 am PST, exhausted and content to be back in the place they couldn’t wait to vacate just 6 hours earlier. Finally, as I lay down for slumber, which seems an impossibility before knowing my babies come back home to me. Alive. Safe. Sound.
And I am reminded of the words from Pink’s song “I will be with you until the world blows up. Up and down and through til the world blows up. That’s all I know so far.”
Because that is what it is like to watch your heart walk outside of your body, while you surrender that she will return. That’s what it’s like being a Mom.
If you’re a Mama witnessing your cubs “feel themselves”, I see you...