Sometimes in order to move forward, you have to revisit the past. In therapy, you often recount past trauma to see how it plays an integral role in your present life. This particular post is neither a therapy session, nor did it occur in my distant past, but I have had enough space to view the evolutionary process of my parenting style to now have a little more clarity. This is chapter one of my confessional, and perhaps you might find some solidarity in it.
Often family dynamics can resemble that of a zoo. Each member of the family has his or her own personal attributes, smells (especially if you have teenagers), and noises. For instance, my husband’s incessant shower whistling resembles a mockingbird, my daughter’s heavy feet in her bedroom above my own can often sound like an elephant, and, on the contrary, my son’s movements are quiet like a fox.
However, their spirit animals are quite different. On a good day, my son is a dolphin. He is wise beyond his years, is kind and is generally a people pleaser. On a bad day, he can become a little more like a reclusive turtle. My daughter, on the other hand, is most often a golden retriever. Despite the fact that she will probably live in a house full of goldens one day, I also view her to be very much them – carefree, but sometimes stubborn; independent, playful and loyal. On a bad day, she vacillates between a turtle and a porcupine….ouch.
My husband is a lion. He is assertive and smart, and he is protective of his people. But on bad days, he is a honey badger. Remember the phrase, “The honey badger don’t care?” He epitomizes that fierceness when someone close to him is threatened.
Since I am married to a lion/honey badger, it has been relatively easy for me to embrace my own spirit animal: the capybara. What is a capybara, you ask? He’s this guy:
He’s kind of cute, huh? The capybara is a go-with-the-flow, get-along with pretty much every animal (including the scary ones), large and fuzzy peace-making rodent. Growing up as a middle child, I always found myself being the peacemaker in the family and in friend groups, and I strived to be that as both a wife and mother. On bad days, I most identify with a feral cat, especially when poked by the porcupine, clawing when irritated and then retreating to woods.
I have never been much of a tiger mom, and I used to think that I did not have a mama bear instinct in me. I mean, why would I need to be a mama bear when I lived with a lion/honey badger? It was easy to live in my capybara world where I loved everyone, and everyone loved me…..until it wasn’t.
Last summer I traveled with the family to The Grand Tetons and Yellowstone National Park. We did what some might view as a cheesy sunset animal safari. Binoculars in hand, we spotted pronghorn, moose, elk, bison galore and both black and brown (grizzly) bears. As it turns out, black bears are much less aggressive than their brown cousins. We witnessed a black bear foraging for berries in the woods. Conversely, we witnessed a brown bear squaring off with a bison over an elk carcass. The brown bears, like the honey badgers, don’t care.
Without divulging into too much information and recounting stories that are not mine to tell, let’s just say that one of my kids was going through some difficult stuff, mostly unfairly circumstantial and unwarranted (think: Regina George Mean Girls kind of stuff), and maybe a small percentage self-induced. After a couple of months of ignoring and praying that the situation(s) would resolve, it became clear that intervention might be necessary. I tried the capybara method of parenting through love and distraction (i.e., Hey, you want to go shopping? Wanna go on a trip? Wanna go for a walk?).
When that did not work, I advocated reconciliation and compromise and tried to arrange for parties to meet up and talk. I tried reaching out to parents but was largely ignored. I capybara-ed until I no longer could. It was only when I saw my child in utter distress and felt that I was in a crisis parenting situation that my inner Mama Bear emerged.
Remember how I told you that the grizzly was a lot fiercer than the black bear? Well, I became a grizzly and I stayed a grizzly for a while.
If you have ever watched the movie This is 40, you may recall this scene where the mom confronted her daughter’s online bully.
Yes, that was me, minus the swearing….and minus the face to face confrontation. Regardless, for a brief moment in time, I was a grizzly This is 40 mom.
I remember my husband asking, “You said WHAT?? And to WHOM?”
I hung my head in shame. He air-fived me from across the room. “Good job!”
Did my inner grizzly help the situation? To be honest, I’m not sure that it did. My child certainly walked away knowing that mama had his/her back, but they probably also thought that I was utterly crazy. I am sure that my child’s friends did as well.
There are times that this makes me giggle, but most of the time, it just makes me sad. My inner grizzly got the best of me, and quite frankly, being a grizzly made me tired. I no longer wanted to be a grizzly. I realize that while I cannot always embrace the role of capybara (or even angry cat), the whiplash of going from peacemaker to grizzly bear was enough to teach me that there has to be a better animal to embrace as my own.
If you have ever watched the beginning of the Kentucky Derby, you might have noticed that each of the racehorses is led out by a companion horse or pony. Usually a good bit older than the racehorse, the lead ponies/horses offer comfort, guidance and support and allow the racehorse to focus on the task at hand rather than get overwhelmed by the chaos of the crowds and sounds of the racetrack.
As my children get older, and I get wiser, I realize I want to be less like a capybara/cat and more like a companion horse. Even though one is away at college and the other is soon to be, it does not mean that they do not still need my guidance and support. Eventually, I will drop the rope and allow them to run their own race, but for now, I will invest in a longer lead rope and hold it a little more loosely. For now, I am claiming the companion horse as my own.
As for my inner grizzly? Well, she is clamoring to go back into her hidey hole. Perhaps the next time she emerges, she’ll come out as a black bear and simply forage for berries in the woods.
A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.
Agatha Christie