the power of looking away
Jumping off the bridge into the swimming hole is almost a rite of passage at my husband's family cottage. For years, kids that have walked up the hill from the river, stood at the rail of the bridge, and stared down into the swimming hole, contemplating whether to take the plunge.
There are unofficial cottage titles for the youngest jumper, and the person to have completed the most jumps in a day. I earned my own title when I finally made the jump. Two weeks before our wedding, at 30, I finally worked up the courage to do it. I remain the first, and only, person to scratch my back on the bottom of the river. Thankfully, the marks were almost fully gone by our wedding day.
My oldest, Vaughn, has had a challenging few years. We have been on a diagnostic journey, the details of which could be their own story. Suffice it to say that while we know infinitely more than we did even five years ago about neurodiversity, we still don't know nearly enough when it comes to children. My husband and I have the resources, capacity, knowledge, and time to navigate the system, and we still felt lost and overwhelmed. Life in the last four years felt harrowing far more days than I care to remember. It is unacceptable, and it shouldn't be this hard.
May that is why what happened this past weekend at the cottage felt so significant. I was reminded me that not every moment requires analysis, intervention, or the perfect parental response. Sometimes the answers we're searching for come not from research or expert advice, but from stepping back and letting our children show us the way.
This past weekend, my husband's uncle threw his annual party at the cottage; a little music festival attended by family and friends that has been taking place on the same weekend for close to 45 years. Our otherwise isolated, quiet cottage compound was alive with music, laughter and a large number of campers.
Naturally, there were countless kids (and adults), jumping off the bridge. Some demonstrated fearlessness. One little boy earned an unfortunate new title after sitting on the bridge for two hours contemplating his jump, only to walk away . Afterwards, other kids used his name as 'motivation' for others. (Talk about a teachable moment for any parents who were paying attention).
My kids have not been bridge jumpers. They are not generally natural risk takers. They have watched their Dad jump a million times, and it has never really sparked their interest. However, around other kids her age, my oldest will occasionally stand at the top of the bridge and contemplate it, but it has never materialized into an actual jump.
This weekend, like many before, she approached the bridge. For an hour or so, my husband's best friend's daughter had been trying to work up the courage to jump. She encouraged Vaughn to do it with her, as if a companion would make it easier. The two of them headed up the hill to the edge strategizing, looking at the angles, building each other up, and making a pact that once one of them went, the other would follow.
There is a lot of fanfare for first-time jumpers. In many ways feels symbolic of how this generation is raised; all eyes are on them. People yelling out words of encouragement: "You can do this!" "Don't be afraid!" "It's okay to change your mind." As time passed, I suspected that this would be much like the other times, lots of contemplation, but no actual jump.
I turned around to continue my conversation. Many of the other adults did the same. About ten minutes went by and I happened to turn around just as Vaughn jumped off the bridge.
No one was watching. The pressure was off. Turns out, one of our friends had also shouted to the girls: "First one to jump gets $20."
Still, it was magical. She came out of the water beaming. Her sense of accomplishment was unmistakeable. A look I don't see often from her.
I started cheering as she swam over! I yelled across to tell my husband who was trying to figure out what all the commotion was as he BBQ'd. I met her with a huge hug, radiating with pride. This kid, has also been dealing with a fear of swimming for the last year, not had spent hours in the river, but had just jumped off a 10 foot bridge.
I had to know: What made her do it?
She said to me: Once everyone stopped looking, I just jumped.
The $20 didn't hurt either.
There is so much information (and conflicting advice) out there about parenting that it can be paralyzing. Parenting a child that is dealing with any form of medical complication, only amplifies that that paralysis. I often feel like I'm drowning in a sea of research just trying to do the right thing for my kids. I spend so much time analyzing every single thing my children do and my reaction to it. I try to be there for every moment, usually with a phone in hand, hoping to capture it.
In the end, it is my children that my greatest teachers. Sometimes, the best thing we can do as parents is step back, stop watching so intensely, and them find their own courage.
