The Beauty of Becoming: Growth Through Life’s Changes
I had a week of quiet tears as I tried to untangle my thoughts about life’s changes and the journeys my grown-up kids are on. I was on Facebook, sharing a reel about ducks and time management that my husband sent me to make me smile. For some cosmic reason, the 2005 Stanford Commencement Address from Steve Jobs popped up next in the feed.
It starts where he spoke about losing the work he loved:
“What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.” He was talking about being fired from Apple. But as I listened, I didn’t think about computers. I thought about motherhood.
I think that mothering is my great work.
I poured my whole heart into raising my children, and I loved it. It’s what I was meant to do. I had dreams for my own creative work, too, like graphic design, and I was even accepted to grad school. But those dreams waited. My hands were full with something even more meaningful, being a stay-at-home Mom to three of the sweetest kids.
Somewhere along the way, without realizing it, I had quietly built a vision of the future: I would be a mother-in-law and a grandmother. I’d be part of my children’s adult lives in the same connected way I was part of their childhood. It wasn’t something I planned; it just seemed like the natural continuation.
Grown-up kids don’t follow our quiet assumptions.
They start on their own chosen paths before we see them.
They love in ways we didn’t expect.
They move in directions that are beautiful, different, and even hard to accept.
In my search for clarity, I asked myself: Was I a good mother?
It’s a question that doesn’t seek perfection, just honesty. Maybe grace, too.
Letting go occurs while you are still holding on.
That might appear rudimentary to some, but I came to understand that letting go of your children isn’t one single moment. It happens in stages, like leaves falling from a tree. I didn’t realize that letting go would feel so much like beginning again. And in many ways, it is.
It’s time to make sense of where life’s journey is taking me, a journey shaped by the paths my children have taken. This year, I started substitute teaching in special education classes and loved it. In classes for students with autism, I gained a deeper understanding of my own patience and dedication. A few local schools call on me regularly now because they know I’ll accept the job, my heart filled with joy.
I take H.I.I.T. classes in colorful leggings (thank you, Greg) at The Y, clearing my head. Sometimes I think about getting certified to teach Barre. I studied ballet for over a decade, and the muscle memory is still there. The mirrors, the piano music, the wood floors; some things never leave us. They wait.
“One day you will gradually become the old and be cleared away.”
Well, that’s a harsh way to end a commencement speech, and it didn’t sit well with me. I don’t think we’re cleared away. I believe we move forward to new places, new purpose, and new kinds of presence. I have a lot to give.
And this I know for sure:
We let go, not because we want to, but because we believe in the beauty of their becoming.
More connected reflections:
