I have started this post multiple times and I have other iterations of it saved to drafts. It’s vulnerable. It’s a sensitive topic that not only may make others feel judged, it also makes me feel judged. But several of my beautiful readers have specifically asked I address this and so, here I am….doing some difficult examinations of how I got to where I am now and how I will get to the next stage of my theosis.
Where to even begin? I feel it should begin with one very particular incident that is seared into my memory. I know exactly where I was standing and what I was doing when I verbally lit into one of my kids who was just about 8 or 9 years old. This child was whining about something and it was really getting on my nerves. I needed it to stop and for this child to knock it off already. I let them have it. I was not compassionate, kind, attached, or empathetic. I was not leading by my example in the least. I needed my child to control their emotions and exercise self-mastery, while I lost my temper and displayed the worst sides of myself. My words, my tone, the body language was all very cutting and demeaning.
I can see this child’s eyes even now more than a decade later. The hurt that welled up in those eyes. And the little voice that said, “Mom, do you really mean what you are saying?” This child’s courage, honesty, and vulnerability in that moment, instantly crushed me. I hugged this child, I apologized, I sent myself to my room and sobbed. What was wrong with me?!
Regrets
I don’t believe in this insipid little mantra of “no regrets” no matter how many inspo accounts say it or how many people tattoo it across their backs. I definitely have regrets. If a person is at all self-aware and growing in virtue they will have regrets. If someone truly has no regrets they are probably a narcissist or a psychopath.
One of my biggest regrets is my lack of tenderness when my older children were younger. My older kids had to deal with Babywise and The Strong-Willed Child and all that anti-intuitive parenting nonsense (May God have mercy on my soul). Even when that was out of my system, I still had so much detoxing to do from a disordered theology that led to, quite frankly, toxic parenting. I was harsh to my children. I yelled. I made demands. I was burdened by caring what other people thought. I tried to control my world–including the reactions and behaviors of my children, which is definitely an exercise in futility.
The answer to “what is wrong with me” was that I had a disordered view of God. The Lord gently corrected my disordered view of him–my theology–and that rippled through my life with grace. Healing is a process. Salvation history is one of healing–of divinization if you are in the West, theosis for most of the East, mingling for Maronites. This idea that when Christ’s Body and Blood is mingled with my body and soul I am transformed into something more beautiful than merely my broken humanity. As I have understood this and little-by-painful-little embraced the process of theosis, the result has been tenderness.
The calm you may see now reflected in my parenting was not there years ago and it is not the children’s fault. It was mine because I had not yet submitted myself to grace through the transformative power of the Sacraments. I was white-knuckling it through my life. There was no surrender to the gentle work of the Holy Spirit. There was no recourse to the maternal love of the Blessed Mother. There was just me and my misguided sense of control.
Eleusa
My pastor recently shared this word with me: Eleusa. As he explained some aspects of icons, he said said that Eleusa is the type of iconography in which Jesus is nestling against Mary’s cheek. It speaks to the endless love and tenderness depicted. It shows (at least) two things: Christ’s great love and mercy for humanity and Mary’s tenderness and devotion to her Divine Son.
The more I look at such images and meditate on all that means the more that sweetness saturates my soul. I can’t go from looking at these gentle images to harshly scolding my children for childish or childlike actions. When I do slip up and lose patience almost immediately I feel the Blessed Mother intercede for me and the grace to pause and process is there. Even when my children sin and even if my heart is grieved, I want the response to be gentleness. As St. Paul wrote to the Philippians, “Let your gentleness be known to all, for the Lord is near.” and to the Romans he said that it is God’s kindness that leads to repentance.
I was recently riding in the car with my son who has a permit and someone who has connections to my family of origin (forgive me intentionally being vague) who asked my son, “How much does your mother yell at you while teaching you to drive?” My son said, “Well, my mom doesn’t really yell. She’s not a yeller.” The person looked at me, laughed, and said, “Are you related to the rest of the family?”
I was not raised with Eleusa. I started parenting from tenderness late in the game. That is my regret, but also a marker of my healing. I don’t know the moment I became tender, but I do know that it is the work of Eleusa–the affection between Our Lord and Our Lady that did a work of grace in my life.
This is perhaps why it is so important that we surround ourselves with holy images and sacramental things. We need to see icons and statues and burning candles. We need to be inspired to enter into the life of grace. So much of what we see these days online, on TV, or even just at the mall is ugly, grotesque even. Cleansing all that and focusing on what is beautiful and entering into it by grace imparts to us the power to move toward virtue–to become what we spend time beholding.
In the Christian life there is no substitute for actually doing the inner work. We have to participate with the grace offered, working out our own salvation with fear and trembling. It’s not easy. It’s not fun. It is, however, beautiful.
The Strength to be this Tender
I don’t particularly care for the term “gentle parenting” simply because of the connotations of permissiveness and lack of discipline. I have been a part of those “gentle parenting” Facebook groups and man-oh-man, do I not relate with them. My way of raising my kids does not mean I give them everything they want, never say no, and never set boundaries. I do not validate every bad decision or affirm every inclination in the human heart. I am still a strict mother (while not being a controlling one. Can you appreciate the difference between those two things?) and that means that we don’t have a chaotic house with an emotional circus. We do have abundant tenderness.
Perhaps it took being on the receiving end of so much violence and cruelty to see that I wanted none of it manifested in my life. As Eleusa worked in my heart I had the strength to choose tenderness. I would no longer participate in the cycles of violence. It’s not enough to say I won’t spank, won’t yell, won’t control. Those are all in the negative. It is far better to say I will set healthy boundaries, I will model true charity, I will submit myself to the authority of Christ and His Church. If I just say all the things I won’t do, it is still me white-knuckling it through life. Instead I unclench my little fists before God and say, “I don’t have what it takes. But you do. So love this family through me.”
If you are still in the no-man’s land of realizing that the way you are parenting isn’t working or perhaps you sense a lack of peace in your own heart or your own home, my step one advice is to hit the pause button. Start with the grace of the Sacraments. Confession. Mass as often as you can get there. Adoration. Run to Mary. Picture yourself at the wedding feast at Cana and being out of wine. Go to the Mother of God and say, “I am out of wine/love/patience/courage/tenderness.” She will go to Jesus and obtain the graces you need. Trust me. I do it all the time.
Ask God for eyes to see your child as he sees them. With new eyes, love them accordingly. With new eyes it’s easier to apologize when you fuck it up. With new eyes it’s easier to focus on the essential things and abandon the addiction to the opinions of others. There is no substitute to this inner work.
It takes strength to be this tender.
reconciling things 