Today is the first day of my daughter’s dance class, and I find myself feeling anxious for a couple of reasons. One, I desperately hope that she can make some new friends. We have been delayed with that part of her socialization since COVID-19 swept the globe. Two, her class starts in 5 minutes, and I am impatiently waiting by our front door as she struggles to put on her shoes.

“Can I help you with that?” I offer, secretly hoping she takes the help so we can leave for class.

“No. I can do it myself!“ she replies, while flashing me an annoyed look that told me to back off. Taking the hint, I step back and let her continue to fumble with her shoes and watch the clock move closer to the 2PM start time.

While part of me is extremely proud that she is exercising her independence, the other half wants to jump in, which in the end I do. She lets out an audible sigh of disapproval as I slip on her shoes and hastily run out the door. I couldn’t wait any longer and I certainly didn’t want to be labelled as ‘that parent’ on the first day of class. As we pull out of the driveway, I can see her lip pushing out in the rearview mirror from my interference. She is unaware that I am silently scolding myself for stepping in. I make a mental note to allow for more time to get ready.

My daughter is wildly independent. I suppose that is how my husband and I have raised her. We want her to be her own person and do her own things (within reason of course). While the idea of raising an independent daughter was and still is a great idea, we come to realize that it’s much more difficult in practice. As a parent I am often found walking on a thin tightrope that hovers above a very blurred line of taking care of my daughters every need and allowing her to push her boundaries and what she can achieve on her own. Jumping in to help too quickly can send a message that undermines her confidence to complete the task at hand. Jumping in too late says that that she doesn’t have the support.

Later that evening as we start our evening routine I ask my daughter to grab a pair of pajamas. She runs to her room while I finish in the kitchen, and she comes back clutching a pair she had picked out of the dirty laundry bin.

“Sweetie, we should really pick a new pair of PJs. You wore those last night and most of this morning.”

“But I love these pajamas and they make me happy.”

As I take a moment to process her request, I think about the worst-case scenario and if it’s worth a meltdown right before bedtime (it’s not). After we get changed, we both snuggle on the couch to read through her thoughtfully hand-picked stack of books. She picks up one book and carefully runs her fingers over the words printed on each page, reciting them from memory. My husband and I beam at each other as she puffs out her chest and we all smile proudly at her accomplishment.

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Photo by Next image Capture: https://www.pexels.com/photo/happy-girl-at-holi-festival-15826307/

Tracey DeWolfe

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