Enmeshed motherhood

I don't remember my counseling days as clearly as I'd like sometimes, but I'm pretty sure I'm an enmeshed mother. I was going to say "becoming" but the reality is, I'm there. The danger of having children, especially a daughter, is you start to relive your own childhood in their experiences.

If you're wise, you recognize that your children are NOT you and let them battle things out in their own way, offering support, advice, and encouragement, and stepping in only when it's something too big for their little bodies and minds to handle.

If you're me... well, I'm working on wisdom, but it's elusive.

Amelia has been struggling with being seven going on eight. She's bright, energetic and cheerful, but she wants everyone to love her, even when she doesn't act in a lovable way. She's learned at home that we love her no matter what, but her classmates don't always feel the same way.

She has friends - strong willed and independent like her - but she wants to be accepted by those who don't accept her now.

My heart aches for her pain - which is fortunately short-lived, because she's a resilient child. I get wrapped up in my own experiences of childhood friendship and rejection and have trouble separating. She is not me, doesn't feel the angst and joy of relationships in the same way, but my maternal instincts want to protect her as I would myself instead of letting her learn through trial and error how life works.

Because, in the end, we really learn the most through our own experiences.

She'll be fine. I know she will. But there are days when I wonder how mothers live through this constant worry and wonder.