Some moms are all grown up, raising children Mary Poppins-style. But the rest of us are raising our young while raising ourselves

Ever find yourself looking for a mirror but there isn’t one nearby? Just go over to your child, look into her eyes, and there, you’ll see your reflection.

If you’re afraid, you’ll see fear staring back at you; if you’re feeling small, she’ll reflect constriction.

Some moms are all grown up, raising children Mary Poppins-style. But the rest of us are raising our young while raising ourselves.

Daughter comes home upset, her classmate called her spacey. The Mary Poppins mother laughs it off and moves on with the laundry. She might take a moment to consider the comment’s validity and whether said spaciness needs to be dealt with. And she’ll soothe her daughter’s ruffled feathers before starting to iron the white shirts.

But… if you’re like me, your train of thought looks something like this. First stop: guilt — what did I eat in my first trimester that caused such flakiness?! Second stop: blame — why can’t she just get it together? And third stop: action — how do I make this go away now? Naturopathy? OT? Osteopathy?

I’m fueled by panic, completely unavailable to see my child and her hurt. I’m seeing myself. And I’m protecting the little girl inside.