Be Their Lighthouse

Every Fall, I become a little nostalgic. 

Maybe it’s the crispness in the air, the changing leaves, the fact that I can make a coffee, not forget it on the counter and actually get to work on time.

Or maybe it’s because fall has always been a reminder of how quickly time moves.

When my kids were little, I had a tradition.

Every year, on the first day of school (or the 2^nd day based on how forgetful I was at the time), I would have them stand beside the same tree and take their picture.

Year after year, I watched them change. Their personalities seemed to grow right along with them.

Sometimes I would look at the picture from the previous year and think, how did I not notice how much you’d grown?

Having children makes you realize that you became so busy raising them that you didn’t always realize you were watching time disappear right in front of you.

Recently, I came across a parenting idea recently that stuck with me.

It said Don’t be your child’s anchor. Be their lighthouse.

They went on to say that an anchor keeps a ship in one place, holds it down and keeps it from drifting too far.

A lighthouse does something entirely different. It doesn’t tell the ship where to go. It doesn’t chase after it when it sails away. It doesn’t try to keep it within sight.

It simply stays where it is, shining its light so that no matter how far the ship travels, it knows how to find its way home.

At 52, I think I finally understand the difference and it’s a wonderful realization.

There are so many moments when your kids are growing up where you are just holding on to the moment, holding their hands when they learn to walk, holding them when they’re afraid or holding boundaries when they test them.

All the sudden, they are 18 and you have to learn how to let go.

That part isn’t always easy.

We spend so many years being needed that it can be surprisingly uncomfortable when our children no longer need us in the same way.

They don’t need us to pack their lunches, make their appointments or solve every problem.

They don’t even necessarily need our advice; which, let’s be honest, doesn’t stop us from wanting to give it.

Trust me when I say that’s not the measure of whether we’ve done our job well.

Successful parenting can be measured in so many ways, but I think the most important is raising children who can leave and still know they have somewhere to come back to.

So no, I don’t want to be the anchor that keeps my children tied to me. If you had asked me that four years ago, when my daughter (our youngest) left for university, I probably wouldn’t have answered the same way.

Back then, I think a part of me believed I was watching something end.

She was our last to leave home. There would be no more school mornings, no more wondering when she’d be home, no more familiar rhythm of having at least one child under our roof.

I think that’s why I love the lighthouse analogy so much. I want them to build lives that are completely their own, whether that means living two blocks away or in another province. My favourite thing is getting a text from them about what they’re up to when they travel, or simply watching them take risks, move away, come home, leave again, and figure out who they are without feeling responsible for becoming who I need them to be. I want to be the light they can always find their way back to, not the shore that keeps them from sailing away.

I don’t want them staying because they’re afraid I’ll be hurt if they don’t.

I want them coming back because they feel safe here.

There is a difference.

That’s one of the things I appreciate most about being a mom of young adults.

I can finally see that motherhood changes.

There was a time when having all three of my kids under the same roof was simply life.

Now, when all three are together, it feels like a gift.

There is something about a summer day, or a holiday when they’re all here. Those ordinary family moments seemed completely unremarkable twenty years ago.

I look around and realize; These are my people.

Not little people anymore.

Adults.

People with their own lives, their own opinions, their own relationships, their own responsibilities and their own places to be.

And yet, somehow, they’re here.

Together.

In my house.

Laughing. Talking. Sitting around long after dinner. Maybe arguing over something ridiculous because apparently some things never change.

I love it.

Not because I need them to fill some empty space in my life or that I need proof that I’ve been a good mother.

I love it because there is something incredibly beautiful about watching the people you spent decades raising become adults who still enjoy coming home.

I don’t want to keep them from moving forward.

That, to me, is the difference between being an anchor and being a lighthouse.

Go see the world.

Go build your life.

Go become whoever you’re meant to become and when you need a place to rest, a place to regroup, a place where you don’t have to explain yourself, or simply a place where someone is going to put the kettle on and ask if you’re hungry…

I’ll be here.

The light will be on.

It may actually be the garage light, given the fact that you’ll see that first and Dad is usually out there tinkering around, but you’ll know exactly where to find us.

I think that’s what I want my children to know more than anything.

You don’t owe me your proximity, time or even the life I imagined for you, but you will always have a home to come back to because I don’t want to hold you back.

I want to be the place that reminds you that you are loved, no matter how far you go.

The greatest gifts we can give our grown children is the freedom to leave without ever having to wonder whether they can come home.

Be the lighthouse.

Let them sail.