They weren’t born yesterday

When my daughter Jenifer was 11 months old, she needed a heart valve fixed. It’s been 26 years, but the moment I handed her to the anesthesiologist is still achingly vivid: I whispered that I wanted her back safely, then practically ran away, the wail “Mama” chasing me down the hospital corridor. I feared that if I looked back, she’d be even more distressed because I was visibly fighting not to cry.

I had that same feeling a few weeks ago when I dropped her sister Alyson at the airport curb. She was on her way to Nepal, a mentor for a group of students on a service trip. To them, she would be an adult, but she’s still in many ways, to me, my baby. So I held on for an extra beat or two as I hugged her goodbye and whispered silently to myself, “I want her back safely.”

My girls are in their mid-20s and, oh, how they’ve changed over the years. I, on the other hand, have not changed much. I want them safe all the time. I’m finding it challenging to dial down my advice, lest they think I lack faith in their abilities.

This loosening is hard.

When they were little, I held their hands, physically guiding and sheltering them, feeding, comforting, coaxing belly laughs that felt like sunshine beaming just for me. I took the advice of a friend to engage with their school so no one there would pick on them. I probably went overboard. When as teens they found Homer’s writing tedious, I read “The Odyssey” aloud and we discussed it. Challenge: overcome.

I knew their friends and fears — until I sometimes didn’t as they got teenage jobs and developed new circles. I nurtured and nudged them toward independent thinking and when the goal was attained, it was a surprisingly hard transition for me. Turns out, parents have growing pains as their kids get older, too.

My daughters are in their 20s and, oh, how they’ve changed over the years. I, on the other hand, have not changed much.

Marissa L. Diener, a developmental psychologist at the University of Utah, suggests distinct parenting stages, starting before the baby even arrives. First, it begins with one’s expectations of parenting — What will it be like to be in charge of how a person grows up? What kind of parent will you be? — before moving into the actual nurturing and guiding. The long walks in strollers, the cleaning up after dinner, the first taste of new foods or the first time they try to dress themselves. It becomes our job as mothers and fathers to show our kids how to interpret the world around them. Then, startlingly soon, they start making decisions, and you share them. You co-pilot conclusions on whether or not to try out for the lead in a school play, which friends to invite to a sleepover, the final answer on a long-division problem. Finally, they don’t need a co-pilot anymore. This is what Diener calls “the departure stage.” The kids are grown up, and you are left with your thoughts on how you did as a parent. Did you succeed? Did you fail? How are you supposed to now be a parent (the noun) and not parent (the verb)? This is the stage where I find myself now.

Who knew successfully raising strong-minded, capable children could sting a little? I am both proud and a tiny bit dismayed when they demonstrate their problem-solving prowess. It’s hard to move from being in the thick of every dilemma to just getting the recap. I would have never suspected I’d miss the days when my Jeni cried because math felt defeating or my sometimes-obstinate Aly touched a burner to see if I was telling the truth when I said it would burn.

I have so much confidence in them. Where I lack confidence is in myself. At this different stage of parenting, I am a novice, trying to stay relevant and feeling pretty outdated. Jeni recently asked for advice about a job offer, which made me nervous. I value stability, safety. I fumbled to answer.

She listened patiently to my list of pros and cons and then said kindly, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll figure it out.”

When the kids were little, they didn’t have the option to drift away. Now I have a lot to lose. Parents are vulnerable when their children are grown. Adult kids can generally do OK without Mom and Dad. Many do.

The middle path between the hands-off relationship I sometimes see in other parent-child pairs and an infantilizing relationship where Mom’s still doing the laundry and arranging her kids’ appointments is becoming seemingly harder to discern, let alone walk.

Pauline Wallin, a clinical psychologist in private practice in Camp Hill, Pennsylvania, assures me that parents often struggle to leave behind the control they had when their children were younger. Still, there’s danger in not negotiating that particular curve. The country is filled with adult kids who “ghost” controlling or critical parents who don’t adapt to fit the developmental stage of the relationship. She says collaborative parents are probably more adept at stepping back and letting their adult children be independent.

My girls were easy when they were younger; self-starters who could be strong-willed, but that never bothered me. They weren’t breaking laws, their grades were good and boundaries were easy to negotiate. I think that’s what I find hard now: I no longer sit at the bargaining table.

The 20s are a developmental stage for parent and child that’s fraught with misunderstanding, Wallin says. Mom forwards articles or prepares meals in a bid to be helpful. “The child is thinking, does mom think I am an idiot, sending me all this stuff? She thinks I can’t do it.”

It’s not that at all. I’m figuring out my place, Jeni and Aly, not doubting yours.

Who knew successfully raising strong-minded, capable children could sting a little? I am both proud and a tiny bit dismayed.

Truth is, the young women we raised are phenomenally capable. They put themselves through college and have good careers. My husband and I assure each other we did OK. I half-joke that my folks often got things wrong and I still loved them mightily. Perhaps Jeni and Aly will give me the same grace.

Whatever my husband and I taught them of fortitude or resilience, their own experiences have broadened their view. Aly works with kids and has an almost otherworldly ability to meet them and their life experiences, helping them move forward. She didn’t learn it from me. Jenifer has a street-smart, commonsense approach to problem-solving that I genuinely envy.

I’m looking — without a map — for the spot between friendship and adviser. Sometimes my daughters won’t welcome my input. And sometimes they need my assistance or hope I will help them figure things out. But I don’t always understand what they’re asking of me. A road map? A suggestion? A sounding board? I should probably ask. Tess Brigham, a licensed therapist and certified coach in the San Francisco Bay Area, puts it like this: You’re a consultant now. You have a lot of hard-earned wisdom to share. But it’s “kind of on a need-to-know basis.”

I think maybe she’s telling me gently that I need to know when to back off. Work in progress.

The good news is collaboration can thrive. It doesn’t end when a child turns 21, Wallin assures me. Do I need to shut up and watch them go? No. Do they need to hear my opinion on everything? Also no. If I always have suggestions and ideas, I’m background noise. Plus, what I learned and did — take work, for instance — might not be relevant to the issues my girls face today. I’ve been at my job since long before half my colleagues were born. When I struggled to offer advice to Jeni when she asked about her aforementioned job offer, it stung to hear her say patiently, “That’s just how it is now, Mom,” as she explained to me how job security does and doesn’t work in the current economy.

Oh.

Fortunately, my role as Mom is secure, as long as I can continue to grow as a parent. A recent Pew Research Center study found that “moms and daughters are especially closely connected” as each gets older, “with many relying on each other for emotional support.” Life experience and maturity are said to help, on both our parts.

I am and will for all my life be Jeni’s and Aly’s mom. My responsibilities have changed but I pray they never go away completely. And hopefully, they will always want my love and approval. As surely as I want theirs.

This story appears in the September 2024 issue of Deseret Magazine . Learn more about how to subscribe .