"Mom, I Feel Like I'm Losing My Marbles"

I can’t speak on behalf of all parents, but I can tell you that the ‘sitting back and watching my kids figure it out on their own’ approach has been anything but natural for me.

Mom, I feel like I’m losing my marbles. I ran into X and I could NOT handle myself. I thought I was totally over it! Whyyyyyy is this happening?! I can’t take it! When will it end?!

I couldn’t keep myself from laughing. Hearing ‘losing my marbles’ was quite possibly the most endearing, cute statement my child could have said and a very real sentiment to what happens to us when we like someone. 

I thought of the last comment, ‘when will it end?!’

I thought of myself. The world around me. 

Never my love; It never seems to end no matter how old and experienced we get. We are forever losing our marbles over romantic love.

After we spoke I reflected on our conversation. The marbles. It made me think of the old man Tootles from the movie Hook. If memory served me correctly, he was living with Wendy who cared for him and everyone thought he was losing it. Always frazzled and on the search for his marbles. Later though, while Peter Pan is on Neverland, he discovers the bag of marbles Tootles was in search of. He wasn’t mad or losing it after all. He had literally lost his marbles.

Over the last few years I have tried to spend more time listening to my kids tell me what’s going on in their relationships, and less time telling my kids what I think they should be doing in their relationships. 

I can’t speak on behalf of all parents, but I can tell you that the ‘sitting back and watching my kids figure it out on their own’ approach has been anything but natural for me. 

Is mom not synonymous with ‘knows best’? 

Is my role not to ‘keep you safe’? 

Are we all not leading with, ‘do as I say, not as I do’? 

It makes me think about the days, months and years that I thought it would be better, SAFER (for them of course), if I could put them back inside me. You know, carry them around and protect them from the world. They wouldn’t fall and get hurt. No one could side eye or reject them. They would never have to feel the pain that is the human experience! And I? Well, I wouldn’t have to experience losing it as they went through life. 

All could be well. 

It’s easy to forget how much time you spend watching your kids physically struggle those first 5-10 years of their lives; learning to walk and falling; stumbling down stairs; crashing their bikes. Despite your best efforts to childproof your home, always trying to stay in step with them as they aimlessly set out into rooms and into the world, they still managed to get hurt. 

As a parent you learned to hold your reaction so as not to inform theirs. 

There is an art to this; a sort of freeze so you can gauge just how bad it is based on their facial and audible expression. 

It’s hard to forget the feeling that goes through your body when they start wailing after a moment's silence; to witness the shock and disbelief on their tiny faces as they look to you to understand what it is they are feeling; their confusion as to how or what just happened.  

You become a shock absorber as you hold and console. You promise them everything will be okay. 

Now I look back on it as a learning exercise. I am sure these years are meant to prepare us as parents to witness and endure seeing the people we love most, experience bullying, heartbreak, rejection, disappointment, and so on, and not be able to do a damn thing to prevent it.

Unfortunately, when my kids first started coming home or calling to tell me what was happening in their love lives, rather than gauging their reactions, holding them and space, assuring them, I would project my emotions on them and immediately spring into action. This looked like micromanaging, dishing out advice and feeling far too much of their pain as my own. I did everything in my power to childproof and safeguard their hearts in an effort to protect them -and me. 

One summer while spending a few days with one of my children in Terlingua, I had the idea that some mushroom tea might be nice. Not a large dose by any means, but one that would perhaps quiet some of the internal noise I’m used to experiencing. Intentional time to reflect, if you will.  

It turns out that a gram might fuck you up. It did me anyway.

Two things occurred to me that afternoon; the first was a moment that has zero relevance to this essay but nonetheless, I’m sharing.

I was sitting outside looking at the desert landscape in front of me. While staring at the cactus I heard a vehicle pull up. The sound of the tires on the gravel. The crunch, followed by the creaking of the truck door opening. The sound of the truck turning off and the door shutting. It was the same sound as when my dad would arrive home in the evenings from work. All of us girls would race to the front door, eager to be the first one in line to give him a hug and kiss. 

Not only was it strangely vivid, like watching a family movie flicker in my mind, it was emotionally in contrast with how I felt about my life with my father, his wife and their kids. This memory had a sense of joy and playfulness and a tenderness for my father. I found myself reflecting and thinking; maybe my childhood wasn’t all bad? Tears welled up in my eyes. 

The second happened a bit later as I listened to my child talk of their upcoming move for college. They expressed a deep sadness about leaving their partner; about the changes of relationships and wanting to keep things as they were. As they expressed their emotions, I witnessed my brain. I had expected to be part of what they found difficult to leave. 

I felt myself tear up. I wanted my child to feel this way about leaving me. 

I wanted them to be sad that I wouldn’t be around. 

I caught myself and heard a clear voice…

This is about your child, not you. It’s time to let go and stop centering yourself in their pain.

Be there for them. 

Be the guide that your children can come to. 

Listen to them. 

Stop making things about you. (I agree, this voice had A LOT to say )

I officially cut the umbilical cord that day. 

I started asking different questions and just held my child. I let them release what they had going on and didn’t make it about me. I promised them that they would be okay.

Both of my kids have told me over the years, we need you to be our mom, not a coach. (again, my role and job in question) I would joke, you don’t want your Mom! She’s short on patience and wants to control everything around you to keep you safe and happy. She’s too direct, demanding and without a filter. 

Coach on the other hand? She asks questions and listens. Gives out advice that doesn't have an agenda attached to it. 

Okay… and she dishes out self help practices and concepts ad nauseam. 

Untangled from my brain that day in the desert, I finally understood what my kids meant by ‘mom’. 

Later that day, and hours after my child told me that they felt like they were losing their marbles, I drove into Woodstock to grab a bite to eat and check out some of the shops. I found myself in a home goods store. I was admiring the vintage furniture when a silver framed piece of art on the wall caught my eye. As I got closer I noticed that the image was a puzzle. As it came into view I couldn’t help but laugh. It was marbles. I immediately thought of my child; I have to buy it, I thought. I need something for my wall in my living room. Plus, I’ll think of my child and their sweet sentiment about ‘losing their marbles’ every time I look at it. 

I spoke with the owner of the shop who informed me that she found this vintage puzzle while traveling in the southwest. 

I walked out of the shop feeling a sense of satisfaction. And then I heard the voice; 

This isn’t for you. It’s for your child. Fuck, I thought. I did it again…

I FaceTimed my child when I got back home.

I got you a gift you never knew you wanted.

What is it?!

I told them the story of Tootles from Hook and then showed them the puzzle. 

Now, whenever you think you are losing your marbles and going mad over someone, you only need to look at this picture.

You will forever have your marbles.

Your mom has made sure of it.