When Ward and I married in 1997 at Parkdale United Church; we wrote our vows. While we didn’t include the traditional words of “honour and obey”, we agreed to honour and respect each others thoughts, feelings and unique traits during times that are easy, and those that are challenging.
Creating the words, and then speaking them was the easy part of the journey.
Recently, our family shared the wonder of marriage at the wedding of Ward’s oldest son Fraser, to his long-time sweetheart Chelsea. They looked young, beautiful, and in love. They too, created their own vows. With strong and steady voices, each spoke of the gift of the other, the joy of spending their lives together, and the love they share with one another and their daughter Ava. I know they assume that the word “love” is enough of a promise. But love, or the fear of losing it, can create distance over time. It undermines its own greatness. Wedding vows are not about present love, but a mutual promise of future love. I heard their proclamation of love, but not their pledge to stick by each other through all kinds of circumstances, for better or worse.
Why is this a sticking point for me? Because I have spent the majority of my life believing that love “should” be enough. I felt certain that love was the antidote for pain. I imagined that if you loved someone, relationships would be easy. I thought that joy was born in the arms of love. I’ve learned that love, unequivocally necessary for relationships to exist, is not the main ingredient. Risking vulnerability—showing up and being seen—regardless of the response you get, is the mortar that binds us together, and connection is the reason we risk being our authentic selves at all.
No love is more vulnerable, more fear-full than the love of a parent for a child. The five children we’ve parented together, share only a last name, but together make up a unit, comprised of distinct and separate parts . Each one is MORE for having the other four. But even love and support in a family unit is no guarantee for happiness. Brené Brown, author of “Daring Greatly” writes, "Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance."
Faven joined our family five and a half years ago. She has not experienced a sense of belonging in our family, or community. We understand that there are valid reasons for this, however, we continue to be confused by her stalwart resistance. Nonetheless, we come alongside of her discontent, and listen for clues to figure out what she needs. Faven has regular triggers, and by regular, I mean normal activities like asking her to put a banana peel in the garbage, that will prompt an emotional reaction, the volume of which we have no control over once it has started. Despite extensive support, she does not yet have the skills needed to manage her big emotions, and her circuits easily get flooded. As soon as that happens, she fights or flees, and usually both. It is only recently that she has chosen to flee from our house. Having her in the house, angry and railing is no picnic, but having her out of the house brings a different kind of stress.
Thinking about wedding vows has me thinking about my commitment to my kids. Do I pledge to love and cherish my kids “for better or worse”? Doing what is best, sometimes looks like walking away. Protecting the rest of the family, and myself feels like disengagement. Loving a child enough to allow them to make mistakes, and live in the mess of it…appears mean. Disappointment creates sadness. Ward and I are in the difficult position of parenting a child who does not want to be parented, loving a child who does not love herself. We cannot ignore that living has rules, and actions create outcomes, but this is really tough.
Over the last nine years, I have engaged in many parenting seminars, and attended a psychologist-facilitated book club. My desires for my kids come down to this one goal: I want to help my children grow into thoughtful, independent adults, capable of loving, and being loved.
But, what if that doesn’t happen? What if there are circumstances larger than any amount of loving support? When do I let go? Each of them has sparked in me a love that is so intense, and joyful, and painful—and when they are hurting, I am hurting too. When a child decides they do not want to be with us, how far do we follow them? How much do we interfere in their decision, knowing that they are immature, and inexperienced. Moreover, when a child has special needs, unique considerations, who do we involve to ensure their safety?
What are the sacrifices we are willing to make, the burdens we will carry…
for better,
for worse?
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| The Five Flemons Children |
