What’s your role in your child’s new life? Is there still parenting left to do once your child has married?

Mother For Life

Miriam Kosman

When asked to write about mothering marrieds, my first instinct was to decline, because pontificating on parenting in a magazine would make it pretty embarrassing to mess up. I have to admit that when reading columns about relationships, a little voice inside me wonders if the writer’s spouse or children are snickering in the background.

Another problem with pontifications is that so much about our relationships aren’t in our control. Like anything else we take pride in, successful parenting often has much more to do with gifts we were given by Hashem and much less (than we’d like to admit) to do with our skills, principles, and theories. In fact, I think most honest parents would agree that when things do turn out okay, it’s more despite the mistakes we so often make than because of any brilliant choices on our part.

Yet, ideas kept whirring around in my head because the incredible-not-to-be-taken-for-granted gift of mothering marrieds can be such a rich and beautiful experience. Here is an adult, your child — on the one hand, so much a part of you, and on the other, so completely (and often, surprisingly) different than you. And here’s another adult, your in-law child — so completely not you (product of a different family culture, background, mindset) but on the other hand, often occupying the place in your heart reserved for birth children.

Mothering marrieds is yet another permutation of the endless dance between the poles of connection and differentiation. I offer the following three thoughts less as theory or advice, and more as meditations on the intricacy of the steps.

THE ADULT IN THE ROOM

The first principle about parenting is that beyond the parent’s actual halachic obligations, it’s clear that the Torah casts a parent in the role of the giver; a parent is supposed to be continuously focused on what will benefit the child.

When our children were young, the giver / receiver dynamic was much less confusing. Reading Good Night, Moon for the 84th time, or swooping spoons through the air like airplanes clearly wasn’t for our own pleasure. But as our children become gratifying adults — and our own lives perhaps become less full — the bestower and receiver dynamic often gets tangled.

It’s important to keep in mind that being a giver has much less to do with the transfer of a commodity and much more to do with the (oh-so-dependent-on-self-awareness) question: Where is my focus? Is my goal to satisfy my own need (to feel needed / to protect myself from the discomfort of my child’s failure / to share my wisdom / to give me a sense of meaning, etc.) or to fulfill a real need for my child?

It’s fine — and normal, and very human — if the answer to that question is a combination of all of the above, as long as we’re honest about it to our children, or at the very least, to ourselves. What gets sticky (and potentially unhealthy) is when we’re really taking but are masquerading it as giving.

A good gauge to motivation is to check your passion level. Do you need the child to take your advice? Is it crucial that your child do it your way? Are you desperate to know what’s going on? Other-focused help should be dispassionate: I’m here if you need me, but as soon as you don’t, I return to my own satisfying life.

And, as an aside, having your own satisfying life to return to is probably one of the most important elements in the dynamic of mothering marrieds. Not needing your children to fill your time and sense of purpose allows you to be more focused on their needs and more honest about your motivations.