Unsafe vs. uncomfortable

There’s a big iron horse statue owned by the University of Georgia in a field that you can visit about a half hour from where we live. When my oldest was young, I stopped there to let him see it as we were passing through. This statue has its own story and celebrity status, so I already knew climbing was allowed. He has always been a sensory seeker, so he immediately started climbing. He climbed higher than I could reach- so high that it took my breath away. It’s not that it’s that tall. It’s that he was so small and there wasn’t much I could do from the ground to keep him safe.

I was anxious about him falling, but he was not. To him, it was freedom after being in the car too long. It was stretching and using his muscles and feeling the wind in his hair and being up high enough to get a view of fields and farms. It was that oft-sought-after powerful feeling of being taller than your parent. Emotionally, I was anxious. Cognitively, I knew he needed this. I knew that the best way for him to learn about his body and its strengths and limitations was to practice, to try, and to feel it on his own. To know what it feels like to climb without me helicoptering over him would be the best way for him to learn what it felt like to be “too” high.

Y’all. That is so HARD. His body has needs that are different than my body’s needs. What felt too high for me watching from the ground felt fine for him. He smiled and laughed and enjoyed the climb without me telling him to be careful or to come down right now. And he was fine. He didn’t fall, he didn’t get scared, he doesn’t even remember this event. He may not have had a learning moment, but I did. I was reminded how important it can be for an adult to trust a kid. To trust they know what they’re doing, to trust their decision making skills and their physical ability. To trust that they can trust their instincts and know their own limits.

We were at a playground with friends who have younger kids a few years ago and my kid was standing on the top ledge. He called for me to look, and I waved. He called to me “do you think I can jump from here?” with a daring grin. I said “it makes me a little nervous, but I’ll let you decide if you want to try”. I don’t remember if he jumped or not. I do remember another parent of a younger child saying to me “wow, I would not have been so chill about that” and I laughed and said being calm on the outside did not mean I was comfortable on the inside. For me, allowing my kids to do something that makes me uncomfortable but is not unsafe has become an analogy for all of parenting. So often we are trying to weigh our own fears against our kids’ well-being. We want to keep them safe, but we don’t want to hold them back. We want to launch them, but with a tether to the security of a parent.

I decided at some point that I would try not to limit things that were uncomfortable for me unless they were unsafe for my kids. I’m sure everyone’s interpretation of unsafe is different, but asking myself if I’m using caution because of safety or because of my own discomfort has made a difference in the way I parent. I hope it is teaching them they can trust themselves, and that they will always have a safe place to land. If they choose to.