There are mystical parenting moments when we hear words coming out of our mouths, directed to our children but also clearly intended for ourselves.
My daughter Isabelle made the “mistake” of goofing off after cross-country practice by walking around on her hands. Her coach called her over. She was probably expecting a reprimand. Instead, he told her that she would be trying out for pole-vaulting when the track season began. “Good core strength. Confidence.”
Don’t mind my shaking voice.
I mean, if someone told me that I should plan to be running at top speed From Runners World for New Balance, carrying a long pole which I then had to stab into the ground in order to hurl myself into the air, then flip upside down to clear a vault, before falling back down onto a mat far below, I would likely hurl something besides myself into the air—namely vomit and excuses.
Of course I didn’t say that to her when she told me what the coach said. Instead, I maintained the mommy-neutrality that is getting harder and harder to uphold with each passing year.
I remember working so hard on my mommy-neutrality face when the kids were little. I recall eight year-old Luke running up the beach, kicking sand, and holding his chin while blood ran down his arm. A wave had knocked his face into a rock and split his chin within our first fifteen minutes at the beach.
I felt a wave of fear and nausea wash over me as I watched his bloody jog to home base, but I pulled it together and managed to make the “mommy neutral face.” That’s the one that says: Honey, everything is okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. Don’t mind my shaking voice.
“Girls. Pack up the sand toys and grab the towels. Luke. Here’s my shirt. Hold this on your chin. Press hard. Where the hell is urgent care in this town?” Oh God, I went to urgent care in a bikini top, now that I think about it. We were a hot, bloody, sandy, mess.
I didn’t lose it until late at night, after Luke was stitched up and the kids were clean and tucked in. Then I got in the shower and sobbed, finally rinsing off my day.
The mommy neutral face still gets routine use in their teenage years, though no one calls me “mommy” anymore. When a kid describes a party, or a test grade, a curfew incident, an issue with a friend, or an issue of their own that they ascribe to a friend. See my face? You can tell me anything. I won’t flinch. I can handle all of this.
The mommy neutral face also works when your daughter says she is trying out for pole vaulting. “Oh, wow, honey, that’s exciting news. You’ll be great.”
She got more nervous as the first day approached, calling and texting me right before practice began. This is when I heard these words coming out of my mouth:
“Honey, all you have to do is show up. If you get dressed and walk over to practice, that’s it—you’re already successful. You are learning something totally new. You can’t possibly judge your performance, because it’s going to take a while to learn all the parts, let alone the whole. It’s going to take a while to build the strength to even try, and it will take time to teach your body something different. You will practice until the new becomes normal. For now, right this minute and going forward, we’re taking the pressure off. Just keep showing up, that’s all.”
She exhaled and said, “Okay thank you. I will. Gotta go loveyoubye.” There was nothing mommy neutral about that moment.
So this is my message to my kids, to myself, and to you: Let’s measure our success by our willingness to keep showing up. Whether it’s our running, our healthy diet, our career, our parenting, our marriages, our relationships, our education, or our dreams – if we focus on our investment rather than the outcome or our performance, we will liberate ourselves from the fear that claims too much of the energy we need available to fuel our try.
She was terrified, and rightly so.
Kristin Armstrong is a mother, a writer, and a runner. She has written six books, including her latest, She Raced 18 Horses in an Ultramarathon—and Won.
