Playing Tag and Big Feelings

My oldest son is a new adult, a fresh eighteen year old, my youngest is five. My middle children are fourteen and eight. Each stage and age has brought with it new joys, new hurts, new accomplishments, new challenges. Some of their “stuff” is typical coming of age growing pains, some is not- some individual to them. When my oldest was younger, his hurts were mine- we were intertwined like a field of flowering vines trying to figure out how to grow together. My next child, my only daughter, hooked into my soul in a different way, she illuminated a younger version of me. Feeling my own womanhood- what it meant, what it didn’t. My next child was my rainbow baby after a series of painful losses. He climbed into my aching heart and took residence in both the shadow of sadness and the light of dawn. Fiery and resolute- the spirit of spring after and a long and cold winter. My youngest babe is fresh and golden, like the caboose of a train- giving me a view of where I have been while I continue moving forward.

So when I say that I have four kids in four different stages, it is no joke. We range from big stuff like moving into adulthood to being scared of the dark. And really isn’t it all just the same? That lack of knowing what is ahead without seeing clearly.

I remember bringing our oldest to the doctor and how he would cry with an immunization and my eyes would blur over, tears rolling down my face. It was clear how fast our culture equated bravery to a lack of emotion- which is ironic- as courage is yet another feeling. (I remember people saying how “brave” their babies were based on how much the did or didn’t cry and I always found that such a strange comparison) That line between comfort and dismissing feelings a fuzzy line. I used to see myself needing to walk the tight rope of emotions with them- holding them- guiding their steps- carrying the pole. Their feelings were my feelings too. I am an Empath and it is natural to me to FEEL my way through the world. I thought the more I moved toward them, the more we were both in “it” the more supported they would feel. Truth is, the more I tried to balance us, the more I shook the rope. Instead of helping them steady their world- the more I shook it up. They didn’t need me on the tight rope with them- they need me to instead be the net. The constant. The place to fall- the place to land after taking a tumble or a soaring leap. The net doesn’t judge. The net doesn’t wobble. The only reaction of the net is how far it needs to flex. The net doesn’t live the experience, it is only there to witness it.

Even now, once in a while, my youngest kids talk my oldest kids into a game of tag. They scramble around the yard, breathless and sweating. They dodge and swerve, they laugh. Sometimes they trip each other, sometimes they fall. Each “tag” brings with it some feeling. Disappointment. Excitement. Joy. Fear. Frustration. Life is like that. Each tag brings with it a new set of feelings to witness. I am home base. The place they run back to- sometimes wrapping their arms around my waist, sometimes they just leave a hand on me, the oldest just stands close. They don’t want to me to play tag with them, they just want me to be home base. To be constant. To regulate. Their big feelings take courage to feel- and they aren’t asking me to feel them as well, just to stand near to help them come back home to themselves.

As adults we need it too. After a hard day, I don’t want my husband to play tag with me. I don’t want him to run around in the scramble- I need him to be home base.

Our kids, our partners, our loves…they show their feelings to us to offer a backdrop to where they are in that moment- and we can witness it too, but from the net, not the rope.