WHEN LEARNING TO LET GO TURNS 'LOSING' INTO WINNING

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When learning to let go turns ‘losing’ into winning

When Teagan (who’s now 9) was nine weeks old she slept through the night for the first time.  Up to this point, every night she had carefully been tucked into her little sleep slack and placed between me and her dad. I was late having my daughter (40) and the joy and love I felt each night when I snuggled up next to her is indescribable. I loved listening to her little breaths flowing in and out and sometimes stayed awake just to watch her sleep. Those are memories that will stay with me forever. But when that fateful night came and she made it through the night without needing me I knew that I had to move her to her crib. If I didn’t do it then she’d be sleeping with me until she was a teenager.

Letting go of those precious times that I knew would never come again was one of the hardest things I did when she was a baby. But I was determined from the beginning to raise an independent little person. And I knew I had to put my desire to keep her close to me aside and start to let go.

We want our children to be strong and independent and confident while at the same time wanting to protect them from anything and everything that crosses their path.   Watching them grow and experience life can be the most amazing thing in the world to witness but it can also produce some of the most heart felt sadness and frustration ever experienced.

Over these past nine years I’ve watched my child struggle with and overcome a lot. She learned to ride a bike only last year.  It terrified her. Summer after summer she would refuse, try, have tantrums, refuse again. We pushed for a while and then learned to accept that kids go at different paces and she’d get there when she was ready.  As much as I wanted her to succeed I had to sit and watch her fail.  I will never forget the smile on her face and pride in her voice when she came home from her dad’s one day, pulled out her bike and started to ride around the driveway. “Look at me mom… I can do it!”. 

Her world was rocked last year when she learned she had Dyslexia, a learning disability that makes reading difficult when taught with traditional methods.  How was I going to protect her from this?  Once again there was nothing I could do to make it go away. I watched my daughter shut down and give up.  I watched her put her fingers in her ears and hide when I tried to talk to her about it. My heart broke each time she cried or got angry or refused to accept or even try to understand what it all meant.  But I kept at it and did research to find ways to understand it myself and get through to my smart, beautiful daughter. We, together, just needed to figure out how to embrace it.

In less than a year I have watched Teagan go from denial to understanding.  She has worked with me but so clearly also in her own head to come to terms with the situation. Yesterday she said to me ‘mamma, I have dyslexia which means I have a gift. That makes me special’.  Yes, Teagan, that makes you very special!

This week was the school science fair.  I have never seen Teagan so engaged and interested in a school related activity. Last year she did a project but it was clear she didn’t really understand it was a learning experience. I’d say she put about 20% into it. This year she was excited. She practiced her ‘talk with the judges’ over and over.  She was so proud of herself for the work and effort she had put into her project. She so clearly wanted to win.  This is the first time I’ve seen her care… care about doing a good job, care about winning.  Did she win. No. Did my heart sink when her name wasn’t called. Yes. I looked over at her and tried to gage her feelings.  All I wanted to do was rush to her and tell her how she should have won and how she won in my eyes and next year we’d try harder.  I wanted all that caring and hard work to be rewarded so she’d continue to try, continue to care. I wanted to scream, “IT’S NOT FAIR”. I wanted to protect my daughter from feeling sad, rejected and worthless.   

 But I didn’t do any of that.  I went over to her and told her how very proud I was of her but more importantly how proud she should be of herself.  I asked her, was she disappointed?  Yes.  That’s okay I said. It’s okay to be disappointed. You worked hard and wanted to win but you should be proud of all you did do no matter what the outcome.

Watching your kid lose is tough. Boy is it tough. It kicks in all sorts of over protective hormones that make you want to wrap your arms around your kid and make it so they never have to feel or experience failure.  But…. If we want independent, confident, strong kids we have to let them fail.  I watched a movie about Ray Charles once.  In this scene he had finally become completely blind and he and his mother are in the house. He drops something on the floor and can’t find it. As he cries and flails around on the floor trying to find it his mother rises from her chair. The instinct to help him is strong. But she slowly sits back down and watches as he struggles. She knew she had to let go. She had to let him find his own way or he’d never be strong enough to make it in the world. That scene has stuck with me and I turn to it when I need strength to let go.

I’m not one of those moms who thinks, ‘everyone should win’. I don’t approve of every kid getting a metal when they run a race or having a field day that’s ‘not about winning’. I believe in competition. Kids LEARN when they LOSE. They learn to get up, wipe themselves off and get back in the game. They learn that self worth and effort and enthusiasm shouldn’t be connected to winning something. That life should be led and experience for the sake of it. And if you happen to win at the science fair or soccer game or spelling bee that’s fantastic, but not necessary.  Losing builds character, makes you stronger and more confident in yourself as a person.

We have to let our kids go so they can feel what it’s like to fail and they will fail, over and over. But the beauty is they’ll recover and that makes them stronger. By letting go we turn losing into winning. And if we’re lucky they will stay close enough to let us help them when we can.  Teagan, at 9, loves to sleep with me when she can. It’s not often but it is a gift I am awarded from time to time when my independent, gifted child chooses to come close and let me wrap my arms around her.