Et Tu, Brute? Learning to Let Go

It may feel like a small betrayal every time your child takes a step away from you (first day your child resists nursery pickup, anyone?). This Long Island mom of a high school freshman is (still) learning to let go.

It’s amazing to think that with each metaphorical step we take in life, we are letting go of something: letting go of fear, of restraint, of self-doubt, of inhibition, of our comfort zones, and on and on.

On a personal level, this can be so liberating. We feel empowered to follow our instincts, our natural inclinations. Although there may be trepidation leading up to whatever “steps” or milestones we are looking to embark upon, once we have given ourselves permission to do so, the fear and the doubt almost always subsides, and this is how we continue to build confidence in meeting the new and ever-present experiences life holds for each one of us.

While this makes perfect sense for us, on a cognitive and social-emotional level, it becomes a lot of hogwash when it comes to our children. As any parent will tell you, understanding the concept of letting go—of giving your child the freedom to grow, bloom, move forward (and out of your reach)—and actually putting it into play are two verydifferent things. We may want to be “textbook” in our parenting approaches, but a little thing called emotion somehow always steps in the way.

Notice, I did not say “gets” in the way… When the time came for my daughter to attend preschool, she was excited and eager, albeit preoccupied. What would it be like? Would she like her teachers? Would she mix well with the other children? And how would it feel to be separated from her constant companion, me? I had the very same thoughts and feelings—my preoccupation, though, settled upon how I would feel without my constant companion, my child.

I remember the first day like it was yesterday. She looked so adorable in her new outfit and shoes. She was mostly excited; cautiously optimistic too. I, myself, did not look nearly as darling; I had barely slept a wink the night before, and my smile continually verged upon a tight clench as I gritted my teeth in wary anticipation.

When we arrived at the school, I was relieved to see that parents were being given some time to stay and help our kids acclimate to their new surroundings. My new student seemed fine when I left, off to the local library to journal away my own mixed bag of feelings on this day, momentous for us both.

Finally, happy hour! When the clock finally indicated that I could head back, scoop my daughter up in my arms, and carry her back to our home, I couldn’t have been happier. I was curious to hear all about her day—to hear her tell me every detail as she wrapped her tiny arms around my neck and held me for dear life!

Of course, my imagined reunion was not quite this Hallmark moment: I approached the fence, where I spied the gathered children—all smiles, full of chatter, on the tiny playground equipment. My heart did a wonderfully sincere-if-cliché flip the moment I spotted her, and I could not get my words out fast enough:

“Mommy is here!” Then my little girl, who had taken such a giant leap only hours before, turned to me and asked: “Can I stay a little longer?”

Et tu, Brute? How could this be happening?