I’m sitting at my desk, hands on the computer screen, looking out the window to the right of my vision board and wondering if I should have a third cup of coffee. I haven’t been sleeping well since this new decade began. Is it just me, or is 2020 kicking your ass too? Is there some strange shift in the vibrational energy? Is the Universe testing my New Year’s intention (I don’t believe in resolutions) to surrender? All my efforts for health, rejuvenation, and spiritual growth are being hijacked. Anti-aging? Pfff.
This is why.
In less than two weeks, on the day of his 24th birthday, my oldest son is moving across the country to L.A. He’s spreading his new-found wings, while simultaneously severing the umbilical cord still attached to me.
Although he technically left the nest two years ago, he’s lived only a few blocks away — close enough to come over almost daily to pet the dogs, give me hugs, and bring me his laundry.
I know.
“Stop mothering him,” my hubby tells me.
But how? I wouldn’t even know how to begin. My own mother still mothers me, so I have no alternative examples in my life. Mothering, and the layers of things it implies is a loaded word…an unfavorable label. I get it; it rhymes with smothering. And that’s where the lines blur.
As an explanation or excuse, I can say this: I was raised by a Cuban mother. It’s like a Jewish mother except she speaks Spanish.
The stereotypes apply to both.
And so some of it (the mothering-smothering) slipped through my cracks, burrowed inside my psyche and grew tentacles.
The not-so-subtle signs of that first appeared during my sons’ elementary school days. I was a room mother in each of their classes (more than once) to gauge how they were getting along with their peers. I volunteered in the cafeteria so I could make sure they were eating. While carpooling, I listened in on their conversations to make sure everything was Kosher (pardon the Jewish reference again). And I went on every one of their field trips for fear that…
A. The teacher would lose them.
B. Someone would kidnap them.
C. A pedophile would molest them in the bathroom.
I bet you didn’t know I was this bat-shit crazy did ya?
So how can I quit my neurotic, overprotective, slightly smothering, but well-intentioned parenting now that my first baby is moving 3000 miles away? Can an umbilical cord even stretch that far?
Truthfully, I’m struggling with what it means to be a mother of young adults. Their growing pains are my growing pains. Their problems become problems I must solve or at least worry myself sick over. The stumbles they take make me lose my footing too. And what do you do when they fuck up? Too old to punish, too young to understand they need punishment.
How do I launch them out into the mean, hard world, let them go through their final stage of development — the one in which they truly separate from me — and not lose my shit?
In my head I hear, You let them find their own way. You stand lovingly from afar and let them stumble and fuck up because that’s how they learn and grow and become capable adults. Because their survival in the mean, hard world depends on their ability to be self-sufficient, to separate. You let go.
I know this. And yet. Knowing it and putting it into practice are two different things.
My hubby is of no help. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He needs to grow up and become a man.” I’m not listening. Does he have an umbilical cord? No, he doesn’t.
I love my children fiercely, but I get that I straddle the line between loving and smothering. I’ve been the pilot of a helicopter used to hover over them their entire lives. I’m guilty of guilt-tripping them occasionally. Over-involvement and over-worrying are the foundations of my parenting style. So I’m sure you understand why my anxiety level is higher than your average mother’s.
I’m not your average mother.
I’m a Jewish-like, non-Jewish, Cuban-American, pre-menopausal, overly anxious, highly neurotic mother.
I worry about my son all alone out there. Who will remind him to wear a jacket or to eat healthfully? Who will give him a hug when he needs one? Who will do his laundry? Can I fly my helicopter over LA.?
I suppose you’re wondering what all my ranting has to do with anti-aging. Chances are that’s what you come here for. But ultimately, everything comes back to what ages us, inside and out — how we can prevent it, slow it down, or reverse it. It’s what this blog swirls back to every time.
And this post is no different. Yes, prefaced by a little neurotic vomiting, but still relevant to the theme.
Aging seems to speed up once you become a mother. It’s one sacrifice we make to our children. The sleepless nights, the worrying, the guilt — guilt is a youth-sucker. My cortisol levels are at an all-time high, my free radicals have run amok, and I’m certain I have inflammation. I feel the youth slipping out of me through my pores — like sweat.
Really, you should see me.
My skin is blotchy and saggy, my hair is lack-luster, I have no energy. I’m a mess! And to make matters worse, Facebook and Shutterfly have partnered up to send me emails of my memories from when my boys were little.
Fuckers!
My body is sending out an S.O.S.
The message in that bottle? “Chickity, check yo self before you wreck yo self.” (I apologize for cross-generational musical references, but that’s my life).
So look, you may not be in my situation but chances are something along the way will test your ability to stay sane young. That’s life. It’ll hurl youth-sucking balls at you and you can try to dodge them or juggle them, but if you just stand there, they will bruise your once bouncy skin.
We need a self-preservation plan.
So if you’re in a situation that is causing you stress and making you feel sucked dry of your youth, here’s what I’m doing to ease my worried mind, bring me greater peace, and lower the cortisol levels. Starting today.
Yoga
I’ve done yoga on and off for years but I haven’t been consistent. No more. I got my butt into a yoga studio this morning and immediately felt the effects. I’m committing to a yoga class at least once a week.
Meditation
Again. Not consistent. I’m committing to a minimum of 10 minutes every morning. No matter what. I’ve reaped the benefits of meditation in the past: a clearer head and a calmer spirit. Right now, I need that.
Supplements
I know I’m not getting the nutrients my body or my skin needs lately. I’ll share more about the supplements I take another time. You should check with your doctor before you take anything. At the very minimum, we should all take a woman’s multivitamin.
Sleep
I’m such a sleep advocate. When I don’t get enough, I struggle physically and emotionally. It’s a game changer.
Exercise
Exercise is my best remedy for stress. I don’t always feel like doing it, especially lately, but I’m forcing myself to do it every day. No excuses. Yesterday, I skipped the gym and went on a 40-minute power walk outdoors. There’s something about walking outdoors that calms my spirit.
Podcasts or audiobooks
Listening to a podcast or an audiobook gets me out of my head (which is not a friendly place sometimes). I listen to them when I’m driving, when I walk my dogs, at the grocery store, and at the gym. I usually listen to self-help books or motivational podcasts.
Massage
I used to think massages were a luxury. Now I view them as a necessary part of my wellness routine. There’s nothing like lying still while someone removes the knots and the stress from your muscles. Plus the lymphatic drainage helps everything flow properly. Nothing like good flow.
I will never stop mothering my children. To me, they are and will always be my little boys…one who called me Mommy and one who called me Mama. Now I’m Mom or Mother.
And that’s the point. I am a mother and I mother. It’s who I am and what I do…a noun and a verb.
I fully acknowledge that the “Jewish mother” or “Cuban mother” stereotypes do not apply to every Jewish or Cuban mother. However, if you are a Cuban, Jewish, or the double-whammy Jew-ban mother, I’d love to hear how you cope. My youngest son (the 20-year-old) wants to move to Japan when he graduates from college.
Send help.
xoxo