The Great Unknown

Diving into the deep end.

That’s where we were this past Wednesday night. Sitting in the bleachers at the YMCA pool with too many clothes on, waiting for Leo’s first swim meet to begin, with me downloading to Joe, the situation.

Why does there always seem to be a situation?

At pick-up, Finn’s teacher handed me a minor referral sheet, which he received for sticking his tongue out at a girl at lunch. When questioned as to why, he said he thought it was funny.

Me in my head (while nodding): No? Not funny? I mean he’s pretty funny. Were you there?

Teacher reading my mind: I wasn’t there but the teacher who was, said it hurt the girl’s feelings.

Me in my head (still nodding): I HAVE to go. We are going to be late for band and I have an interview exactly one minute after I drop them. Please tell me there’s nothing else!

Teacher still reading my mind: AND, he has not turned in his math homework at all this week. It has been a challenging week.

Me still in my head (no longer nodding): Tell me about it! Wait, isn’t it only Wednesday? How bad could it be? So, that’s only two nights of homework. Great so now we’re going to have to do that too.

I don’t want to have any more “talks” about “issues”.

When is it going to be summer?

As I’m top-lining this to Joe, I catch Leo out of the corner of my eye standing near his team. His eyes are full of tears and he is shaking his head emphatically NO and pointing to the pool.

Pure fear.

I leapt out of my seat, skipped down the bleachers, past the parents, put my arm around his wet shoulders and brought him to the bench.

He was hyperventilating, tears streaming down his cheeks.

I did the quick math.

He knew no one.

There were over a hundred children competing.

The horn was SUPER loud.

It appeared to be complete chaos.

No one was explaining anything.

All the other kids seemed to know exactly what to do.

His coach had her hands full and hadn’t noticed his intense anxiety.

It was his first time.

Leo:     I can’t do it. I can’t. Please don’t make me. Please, mommy, please. I have a really bad feeling. I’ll do it next time. Just not now. Please.

My heart broke. My will strengthened. I listened, tried to figure out our end goal. My head raced through the following in a matter of seconds.

As a family, we take feelings seriously. We take bravery seriously. We take giving it a shot seriously. We take passion and respecting boundaries seriously. The decision to push or give in could be argued either way.

Except that, Leo has always been terrified of first times. Me too.

When he was three and supposed to sing with his class for the Holiday Show, he ran to Joe in tears, afraid. Joe held him tight. He felt safe, loved.

This past year (he’s 9) he was afraid to take the lead vocal in his band. We told him he had to try it. If he didn’t like it, he never had to do it again. He felt abandoned.

He did it. He loved it. He thanked us for believing in him more than he did.

But what did LOVE look like in this scenario?

It is the great unknown. Always. There is no comforting right answer to arrive at.

Strongly encouraging him to do it might allow him to triumph over his fear and feel proud, strong and confident! Or, it might traumatize him for life on swim meets and make him feel distrustful of our judgment.

Ugghhh. Yikes. And eesh.

I tried to calm him down, be understanding but also rational– explaining that there was nothing to be afraid of. No physical danger– there were lifeguards and we would be right there and dive in a second if he had any trouble.

It didn’t matter what place he came in or what time he did it in or whether he dove off the blocks or the side. It was merely the experience of giving it a shot that mattered.

His panic got worse as he felt me understanding but not backing down.

As he got more panicked, I began panicking that I’d fail to calm him, fail to instill the carefree confidence (or more likely reluctant willingness) I wanted him to have. It’s important to know who does what best.

I signaled to Joe.

Joe is not afraid of getting it wrong. For him, there is no wrong. Time does not come crashing down on him. Each decision is not quite as monumentally pivotal for him as it is for me.

He gets the long game, the bigger picture. And, he has the ability to make you feel like nothing and no one else matters at all.

There is endless time and zero pressure.

This intimately reassuring acceptance has the uncanny ability to pull forth unimagined reserves of courage. It has bolstered me many times.

That, the promise of Gofer’s ice cream, and his own inner resilience buoyed him through two laps of backstroke, And two laps of freestyle INCLUDING diving off the block!

It made me so proud of him, but not until he said that he felt proud of himself and looked forward to doing it again, did I feel good and proud of our team.

Each scenario is so different. And love looks so many different ways.

We just keep diving in, keep trying to have faith, we can do it, again.