Having adult children is a bonus no-one tells you about when you are knee-deep in hormones and homework.
None of us wants to see our children in pain; we wish we could keep them in a happy, rosy bubble forever. But that is not the way of the world, and if we did cocoon them they would not grow into multi-faceted, compassionate human beings. I hate to see my children stressed, but it is no longer my place to step in and kiss their troubles better. All I can do for them now is to be an ear if they need it, and remind them that they have all the internal resources to deal with whatever comes their way. I support them and believe in them and marvel at their wisdom and maturity, but my job of babying them is done.
If anything, the tables are beginning to turn: They see my life through mature eyes now, and although I will always be the parent and they the children, I recognise that they have capacities way beyond my own. They are the product of a new age, and to see them thriving in it is both mysterious and thrilling to me…
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