I’m Doing It for the Kids!

Every morning I get up at 6:45 am to see the two youngest off to the bus. They don’t care if I get up and come downstairs in my stretchy pants and bed hair, sucking down that first mug of coffee, talking with them for a minute before sending them out into the darkness. You know how I know?

I asked and they told me, but I still can’t stop myself from getting up in the mornings.

Why would I do that? Because I had to get up early as a kid to get ready for school and ride the train two towns over and my mom never got up to say bye to me. I felt she didn’t care enough to get up and create a touchpoint before we both went about our day.

I feel doubly ridiculous now.

I try to be a consistent presence for my kids because I didn’t feel my parents were for me. Because I felt a lack of presence from my own parents. My father removed himself physically, and my mother removed herself emotionally from the task of parenting. Their presence was spotty at best, unpredictable. So I try to be there at the checkpoints, in the morning and after school, and before bed.

It’s not about getting up — that’s just a symbol for the underlying issue. It’s the signpost I chose as a kid that stood for every time I felt abandoned and neglected and unimportant. It was a way to frame something I couldn’t articulate as a kid — that I had two alcoholic parents who were unable to provide a stable, consistent presence in my daily life.

We are all re-parenting ourselves in some way, sometimes with dumb consequences (like me dragging my ass out of bed for a ritual that is meaningless to my kids). I now realize that I get up for myself (for little girl Juliane who felt alone and for grown-ass Juliane who wants to be seen as a good parent) and not at all for my kids. Otherwise, I would have stopped getting up once I talked to my kids, but I fucking can’t.

I’m a checker. I check in with the kids. When they have a test, or when they’re out with friends, I send “check-in” texts. I’m a poker. I poke my head in their rooms or around the corner. I do this to say, hey, I’m here if you need me.

My eyes are opened to the possibility that my parents were also reparenting themselves while raising me. I see that they tried to give some things to me that they rarely got from their own parents (like physical affection and “I love yous”). Other things backfired, because, like me, they were doing things for themselves rather than paying attention to what was actually important to me and to our specific relationship.

My mom felt like she had to be a girly girl when she was little, even though her personality was more that of a tomboy. As a feminist, she made sure that when I was a little girl I didn’t have to conform to any gender stereotypes. I had the choice between Judo and Ballet. I think this was a brave thing to do but it veered into the extreme when she didn’t buy me anything pink, got my brother the Barbie I had asked for as a Christmas present, and refused to let me wear a dress to my first communion (down with the patriarchy but also we’ll still participate in this horribly sexist Catholic church).

I don’t constantly ask myself if I’m truly doing shit for my kids or secretly for myself. I’m sure there are many things I’ve done that will be the topic of discussion in my adult children’s therapy sessions years from now. But I try to pay more attention to what each kid wants specifically.

One always checks in after school and needs to tell me about their day. One goes straight to their room to unwind and won’t come out until dinner. It’s exhausting to custom parent this many kids and I often fall into my default mode instead, but just knowing that some things that I do as a parent are because of my own history and not related to my relationship with my own kids, is helping me take a step back and re-evaluate.

What are the things I feel obligated to do, even though nobody cares about it and it’s not benefitting anyone? What are the things that are important that I’m missing because I’ve assumed that what I wanted and needed is what my kids want and need? What are the parenting rules I think I should follow because I want to be seen as a good parent but secretly find stupid? What are the things I’m supposedly doing for my kids but really they’re just for myself? And how can I give myself the specific things I need without projecting them onto my kids?

Things are changing because they’re getting older and their responses are changing, too. You know, eye-rolls, and yessssss mooooom, I’m fine! And instead of getting irritated by it, I kind of love it, because what I hear is, I know you’re there because you’re always there. I’m grateful for this, and I also know it’s time to slowly step back a little now. Wait and see and let them come to me once in a while to show that I know they can handle shit. They totally can.

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I think I’m going to sleep in tomorrow and just see how it feels.

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This post was previously published on Medium.

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