I just did one of the hardest things to do as a mom: I pushed my baby out of the nest.
Oldest Son came back to live at home, yet AGAIN, this past July. When he came home, he had a job, a car, a driver’s license, and car insurance. Gradually over the months since, he lost all of those. In addition, he lost his sense of autonomy and somehow lost track of his potential. Add to the mix his volatile temper, low self-esteem and erratic, self-medicating behavior and oh, can’t you just imagine how much fun it’s been at my house?
When you attempt to help someone, but your help becomes a hindrance to their growth, you’ve got to stop ‘helping’. When it’s your kid and that happens, you’re not only not helping, you’re hurting.
I could have nagged, jumped up and down, acted like the freaked out, scared-for-her-son’s-future mom, but instead, I decided to treat him like the adult he is. I gave him 30 days to get a job or find somewhere else to live. He did neither, and yesterday I stood my ground and he packed and left.
Because I have extended myself to and invested myself in my friends, I was not alone in this. I had, still have, incredible support from – literally – all over the globe. I am loved, and from that love, I draw strength. My friends hold the vision with me that my son will find his own strength, determination and resolve, that while he may stumble and falter, eventually, he will find his way and fly.
I took a leap of faith. My job now is to keep faith. Faith in my decision. Faith in him.