Independence

Yesterday, Ila and I ran a 5K. We didn’t exactly run together because at this point, that child is much faster than I am. Her coach suggested she register so she could get in her weekend workout and become familiar with road races, as this was her first.

Right before the race started, she asked if there would be any medals. Her coach confirmed that there would be. She got even more focused. She wanted the only medal they would be distributing for her age band—1st place for 15 and under.

I felt confident that she would win it, but I had my concerns that she would get lost along the path once the race went off. Her coach and I both went over the course with her before we started. 

Then, the gun went off, and we were off.

Posing in the parking lot before we checked in for the race

Ila got out strong, keeping up with all the in-shape men and women at the front. As I let all of the runners pass me, I looked at her proudly and thought, “I can’t wait to see her waiting for me when I cross the finish line.”

After a mile and a half into the race, she and I crossed paths. We both looked at each other and said, “What are you doing here?” I figured she was so far ahead that she was lapping me and heading on to her final leg. As I looked at where she was headed and where I was headed, I realized her path did not have the fluorescent arrows that mine did.

Fifty yards after seeing her, I knew that my child was lost.

My mind started racing about what I should do. I thought about abandoning my route to find her and guide her back to the right path. But I immediately knew that was not the right thing to do.

I kept running.

When I crossed the finish line, my eyes searched for her. I didn’t see her, which confirmed that she did in fact get lost.

My heart broke.

There were medals to be had, and I knew that she should have secured first place for competitors 15 years old and younger. Only now, she was way behind and her receiving that medal was likely off the table.

A few minutes later, Ila, very red, sweaty, and exasperated made her way down the final stretch. She crossed the finish line and immediately broke down. She knew she had missed her chance at winning the medal.

I held her. 

We eventually moved to one of the stone benches. More runners crossed the finish line, and many of them had been the same runners that passed me when we first started.

Something wasn’t right.

Us checking into the race

It turns out, many people ran further than they should have, resulting in later finishes for everyone. Their experience didn’t change the fact that Ila did in fact get lost somewhere on the path, but I think it consoled her a bit. It also didn’t change the fact that she would likely not get a medal because she came in so much later than she should have.

The medal ceremony began. A few people received their medals, and then the race organizer struggled to pronounce Ila’s name: “Eelah Larsen.”

Her coach yelled, “Ila! You got first place!” 

We were all shocked given how the race went. But then I realized that all the kids that Ila was running with at the beginning never crossed the line while we were there. They either dropped out or may have still been out there. 

It all worked out for her in the end, which was a very unexpected sweet ending to a bitter lesson.

I wouldn’t change a thing about how everything happened. 

The feeling of being on your own, making a wrong turn, and having to live with the result is the gig of growing up.

I was in a conversation the other day with another mom about how a mom she knows still tracks her New York City-born and -bred 23-year-old child while she travels throughout the city. It was a little disconcerting for both of us to reconcile the concept of tracking a 23-year-old adult child. We recalled back to our early 20s when we lived here and talked about how we called our parents once or twice a week. We were on our own and learning how to be true adults.

As parents, we spend the first 11 to 12 years of our children’s lives pouring into them... showing them how to do things, how to treat themselves and others, and how to ‘be’ by way of how we live. But from that point up until their graduation feels like the beginning of the release. 

We’re present, we’re still guiding them, and supporting them as a safety net if they fall, but we’re opening up our grip on their lives little by little so that they learn how to be adults in this world.

It’s so hard! But it’s obviously necessary. 

A delighted Ila standing with her prize with Vanessa L Gibson, the Bronx's first female and African American Borough President, on her right

Our job as parents is to provide unconditional love, guidance, and support so that our children can literally and figuratively walk on their own two legs. 

Letting Ila go the wrong way at yesterday’s 5K felt like the beginnings of loosening my grip on her. I could have saved her, but what good would that have done? Yesterday’s mistake will probably always stay with her, and she’ll hopefully never have to repeat it again. If I had saved her, she may not have learned it. 

When we make our own mistakes, we embody the lessons we learn. 

In the end, she won twice — she got the lesson and the medal. I won something, too—more confidence that not saving her from her mistakes can sometimes work out in more ways than one.

This week, I hope you’ll remember that the only things you’re in control of are yourself and how you respond to everything else. 

Petrushka
Your Local Ice Cream Lady & Life/Business Coach

P.S. The next SHMOM Group starts on October 17th! Join us or tell a friend.

P.P.S. If you're an Expecting Mom, join the newest addition to our maternal health efforts designed and facilitated by SHMOM Alum Molly Rosner. Registrants get 25% off a future New Moms Group series.