On advice…

She sat across from me in the Café at Barnes and Noble. She was in her early twenties, recently moved into her first real apartment. This time, post college, she took her bed when she moved. We met to chat and catch up. She shared her plans, talked about her goals, and then began to complain about needing new tires on her car. 

I was just beginning to recognize my need to hand off the “problem solver” role in their lives. Each time they shared a challenge, I immediately began working on a strategy to solve it. Sometimes, I didn’t even include them in the conversation. I heard the problem and simply began solving it. It’s kind of what I do. 

For years, they all looked to me for this particular set of skills. From homework, to their social lives, college and career goals, and beyond, I was the one they relied on to come up with solutions. Now, as they moved out into the world, I continued to feel responsible for this work in their lives. It was exhausting. I didn’t really like it, but I thought it was my job.

The problem arose that when I solved their problems, they got mad at me. It didn’t even matter that I paid for the solution, or that I handled it for them, they still got mad. 

It didn’t take too long for me to figure out that this wasn’t going to work for me. 

So, I decided to make a rule for myself. When they presented a problem, I would not solve it. I would not even offer my thoughts on it. I would instead assure them that they could handle it. Keith and I agreed that we would refrain from “helping” until they asked us to get involved. 

I won’t pretend that it was easy. I found it excruciating to watch them flounder with things I could have helped with. It broke my heart to watch them scramble and stumble and have to live through the consequences. I also saw them gain their footing as they moved toward independence. They didn’t need me to take care of things. They were learning to take care of themselves. 

It’s been almost a decade since we made this promise. It has been hard. We have been able to shift the expectations. It’s easier now that they are older. Life has roughed them up a bit and they are more confident in their own abilities, and also more grateful for the help we do provide. 

That day in the Café, was my first foray into this brave new promise. I took a deep breath in the pause and said, “yeah, we need some new tires too.” And life moved on.