Everyday, I continue to be amazed by what I learn from my children.
A few days ago, one of my girls told me, rather matter of factly, that for over a few weeks now, she’s been “sitting alone” at lunch. From that, I understand sitting with other kids, yet relatively invisible to them. Apparently, she moved to the other end of the table from the girl she once felt her BFF to see if the girl would notice she was gone. The girl apparently, without even noticing herself, had stopped talking to my daughter at lunch sometime ago, in favor of talking to someone else.
Big deal right? Right. Don’t feel sorry for her. My child, strangely, doesn’t seem to have an issue with this at all. When I asked her who she sat with now, she calmly laughed and said, “no one.” I could feel the tears stinging my eyes. Most mothers probably would, too. After all, what’s worse than being a tween with no true triends? Not much – I’d been there done that. She wanted to know why I cared so much when she really didn’t.
My daughter is something of a rare bird. Unlike nearly everyone I know, at 11 years old she knows who she is. Other kids aren’t interested in what she’s interested in. But she doesn’t care. Her thoughts, ideas and activities may not be “cool” with the other kids, but she keeps at them. She doesn’t need to engage in “attention getting” antics. She’s moving out of what’s supposed to be “cool” to doing stuff she’s good at. To a point where she is becoming amazingly talented.
I’m in my mid-forties, and only now am I learning to live without caring what others think. I’m trying to do this by basing my life on my Catholic faith. I suck at it. But I keep trying, using my 20 years of Catholic education and a recent return to the study of my religion, to keep me going. Ironically, I feel outcast among the very Catholics and faith community I grew up in. I’ve been labeled judgemental for reminding people what our religion says and requires of us. At the same time, I’m being terribly honest about my own sinfulness. (Want to know something? Just ask.) NOT a good mix.
My 11-year-old daughter is my role model. It seems she was able to hear what I was telling her when we talked about not fitting in. She heard “Do what makes you happy.” “Know what you won’t accept.” Yet I never heard myself telling her. My other child, who has taken more than her turn in the barrel of bullies, gets what the older one has done. Now, she’s healing.
It’s mom who is struggling to put her faith in God and trust him. It’s all part of that dying to self thing I blog about so often. I made a life out of pleasing people – being an apologetic for corporations and organizations and anyone with a public relations “issue.” It’s funny to think that back in college when I started that career path, I promised God I would use my powers of persuasion to do his work. Be careful what you promise! It seems these days, the only one less popular than me is God himself.
So I’m turning my eyes again to my daughter – the one I prayed for when God didn’t see fit to bless me with a child. The one I begged for over five long years. The one who showed me anything is possible with God. Is it any wonder she’s named “Sara?” It’ll be hard, and I’ll likely keep losing friends as he uses me, and I’ll continue to cry, and pray for those who reject me and him.
But as my beautiful Sara reminds me, who else do I truly need approval from but him?