Gradual Release

On independence and parenting the child in front of me

On last week’s episode of This is So Awkward, a podcast about parenting through puberty, hosts Cara and Vanessa explored some of the complexities of helping our children to become more independent. That is, after all, the goal: to raise kids who will one day leave us. They talked about letting kids go to summer camp, if parents have the resources to do so, and I laughed out loud. I was listening while packing to go to Salida, which is where I am writing from this morning, sitting on the couch of my Airbnb with a view of the mountains (but also a view of the parking lot and a commercial thoroughfare. Life.).

My eighth grader, who will only be an eighth grader for seven more days, has a three-night, four-day retreat this week, and is staying with me at night while attending the retreat during the days/ evenings. As I type this, I realize that it sounds as though I am helicopter parenting, or snowplow parenting, or whatever other vehicle might fit a situation where a parent swoops (plows?) in and fixes something her child should have been able to do on her own. And I also recognize the privilege involved— both logistical and financial— in my ability to come to Salida this week. But the reason I laughed at the podcast was the assumption that kids don’t go to camp because parents don’t let them. What about kids who, for whatever reason, are unable to be away from home?

I hated sleepovers as a kid, although by the time I was a teenager, I think I’d grown into them- the intimacy of talking late into the night with friends, the novelty of using someone else’s toiletries, of seeing how another family lived, of sliding into a different life for a night and a morning. I went to camp exactly once, for three nights during the summer before fourth grade, and I was homesick for every second of it. When I write about this, or talk about it, I always end with, “and then, I went to college five hours away, spent my junior year in Paris, and moved to Colorado in 2004.” As in, “see, I didn’t like camp or sleepovers, but I still made it out on my own.” But parenting my older daughter has made me question even that narrative. There are many versions of independence.

During a conversation with friends last week, when I shared that my daughter wasn’t staying overnight on this week’s retreat, people offered things that have helped their own kids to be comfortable with sleepovers and travel away from their parents. “What would happen if you just put her on the bus?” one friend asked. It wouldn’t have been an option; she simply wouldn’t have gotten on. When she was a toddler, she’d refer to herself in the third person when she was angry. “Jia doesn’t,” she’d say about anything she did not want to do. We have had many versions of “Jia doesn’t” over the years. Last year, even with my husband there, she didn’t make it through the end-of-year camping trip. “You know, it’s actually fine with me that she’s not staying over,” I said. “She’s been working on so many things, and it’s okay with me if overnights aren’t one of them right now.” As I said it, I realized it was true.

I recognize that for many kids, going away is an important rite of passage. But when I step back and think about what separating involves, I see independence, confidence, a burgeoning sense of self. Even though she is not yet comfortable with overnights, my daughter is developing all of these qualities. She’s doing tech crew for elaborate musicals, managing her time with fewer reminders, applying to and being accepted for different summer volunteer opportunities. And this week, she’s thriving. She’s able to recharge her battery overnight and to participate in the long days with her peers. She is getting what she needs to get out of the week: connection, closure, confidence that she’s ready for high school. If I’d insisted that the week look a certain way, she might have missed the opportunity to participate in a way that feels meaningful to her.

When my older daughter started middle school, I was just starting to learn about autism. I was certain that if we pushed hard enough and wanted it enough, she could attend the charter school we’d planned on. It took a crisis for me to understand just how differently I needed to parent— how many expectations I had to release, how many norms I had to let go of. It’s a work in progress, of course; a push and pull between protecting and releasing, between attaching and letting go. It’s messy and it’s hard, and I get it wrong a lot. But I think I’m getting better at really seeing my daughter, and at untangling the places where I’m parenting from a sense of what we “should” be doing, rather than from a sense of what she needs. I’m grateful for a couple of days away from end of school logistics to celebrate not only how far my daughter has come, but how far I have come as well.