Flint & Steel — Writing Prompt
When Your Child is Struggling, Finding Focus is a No-Brainer
Where I’ll be spending my mental energy this summer.
This summer, I’m focusing on my son. Not in the sense that I’ll be a helicopter mom. He’s 20-years-old after all. But in a way where I plan on prioritizing him above all else. The tricky part will be figuring out how to be there for him without hovering. To listen when he wants an ear, but to give him space when he needs it — which is often.
Like so many kids and young adults around the world, he struggled through the early months of the pandemic. In his freshman year of college, he was mostly isolated in a dorm room while trying to adapt to a style of learning so different from high school. That’s not an easy transition under normal circumstances, made far worse when classes were only offered remotely and opportunities to interact with other people were limited.
Year Two should have been easier as the world reopened. But from afar, I still suspected that my former honor student was having trouble with his new normal while refusing to talk about it. Perhaps I believed that it all stemmed from the pandemic, if not entirely as an excuse, but at least a partial explanation.
Looking back, I now understand that there’s a lot more to it. I’m grateful that when he returned home for summer break that he finally let me in and admitted he needed help navigating his future. I have a finite window of opportunity to help him while he’s under our roof again. I better not blow it.
When your child finally tells you that they’re anxious or depressed, it’s easy to wonder why you didn’t see it earlier. And if you did, to beat yourself up for not heeding the red flags and doing something more significant about it. I’d always known how hard my son could be on himself. The pressure he feels from within is far greater than anyone else could ever apply.
I remember when my son’s 2nd-grade art teacher called to tell me he had ripped his art project into tiny pieces because he didn’t think it was good enough. Then he threw a tantrum in front of the class, prompting her to reach out with concern. That wasn’t the first time I’d noticed how much of a perfectionist he could be, and certainly not the last.
He’s always been that kid that assumes the worst about a test score or an assignment, only to discover that he performed far better than expected. I suppose that’s why when he first told us that he was floundering in college; we didn’t take him too seriously. Although he kept up with his studies, I now understand how lost he is. He’s not sure about his chosen major, but can’t seem to decide what else he’d rather be doing. In some ways, it seems to have paralyzed him. He needs guidance and support — and not necessarily the kind that I or my husband can provide.
I wish his school advisors had a better handle on things, but they don’t. I’m learning that one of the best things I can do for my son at this point is to teach him how to be a better advocate for himself.
- If he can’t easily get an appointment with his advisor, he needs to be more insistent.
- If he doesn’t understand what’s being taught in class, he needs to speak up.
- If he wants to change his major, he needs to seek out other options and actively engage in vetting them.
- And if he needs to see a doctor or a mental health professional, I support that wholeheartedly.
When I tell him these things, I see his eyes glaze over. I doubt how much he even hears. I feel like that teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoons — wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.
I’m the nagging mother who only wants the best for her child, but feels powerless in helping him get there. It’s difficult to know how much space to allow versus how much to push him toward action. Like anything, I suppose it’s about balance. But I feel impatient, wanting everything to be “fixed” right away. I know that’s unrealistic. Slow and steady wins the race, right?
For now, I’m happy that there’s open dialogue. That he trusts us enough to be honest about his insecurities. So, when I say I’m going to concentrate on my son this summer, I don’t mean I’m going to be hyper-focused on his comings and goings or riddle him with questions or demands every time he walks through the door.
My plan is to carry on with my life as usual. Keep working…writing…taking care of the house…exercising…and making time for family and friends. In between all of that, my son will undoubtedly occupy the top spot in my headspace. I could never eliminate his uncertainty about how to spend his future. But, if he needs advice, he can pick my brain. If he needs a nudge to get things done, I’ll be that voice. I’ll be here when he needs me and make sure he feels loved and supported.
The caveat here is that I need to set my own feelings of urgency and apprehension aside. This is about him, not me. As a parent, that’s not always easy to admit. Perhaps putting it down here in words will help. Thanks for the prompt and the opportunity to reflect!
