Dear Mom,

Last week I wrote about the similarities my children have to you. So much about them that reminds me of my mother. This week I’ve been wondering what you would have been like if you were encouraged more as a child to be yourself. To be confident. To take chances and take risks. To fail and try again. And most importantly, to be loud and proud. To be bold and bright and not dilute the most beautiful aspects of your personality.

You grew up in an environment that demanded women be quieter. That women sit down and shut up and do what they’re told. And I know you did what you could to distance yourself from that. To go off to college. To get a teaching job. To see the world.

But I don’t think you ever had the opportunity to live to your fullest potential. I always got the feeling you were destined for bigger things. It’s why you were often searching. Finding new hobbies. Finding new communities to be part of. Looking for an answer to some big question of the universe. And when you told me stories of your days at college and later, before kids and before having to quit teaching, you always lit up. I could tell how happy those memories made you.

I’m sorry you never got the chance to do more.

I’m sorry no one gave you permission to shine brighter. To be louder. To get more out of life. 

My goal as a parent, probably my greatest goal, is to find a way to help my children blossom. To allow them the space and provide them with the tools to nourish their creativity. To be true to themselves and to help encourage them to never feel the need to lose their voice. 

It seems so simple. To remind them to shine bright. To not let anyone or anything keep them down. But I struggle with this concept. I am currently trying to find a sweet spot between pushing my kids to enthusiastically lead with their confidence and keeping them from stealing the spotlight from others. I’m finding it to be very complicated to find this balance.

Last week, I took Scotland to a concert, and she got an amazing opportunity to get up on stage and sing a song with the performer. The moments leading up to it, which all happened because a woman near us initiated it by calling attention to Scotland and asking the performer to let her up onto the stage, I struggled with the idea of how to say yes to this opportunity while still being respectful of the musicians. I felt an instant embarrassment and a desire to say no in an effort to not bring attention to us.

The last thing I wanted was to have my kid get up on that stage in an attempt to steal the show. To make the night all about her. To disrespect the woman behind the microphone who earned her spot on that stage through years of hard work.

But then I noticed something. Most of the people in that crowd were cheering for her. They gave her high fives after. They congratulated her. They told me how good of a mom I am for not only allowing her on the stage but for also bringing her to a show in the first place. The performer was smiling and hugged Scotland after. No one seemed to think anything negative about the whole situation.

My worries about her place on that stage started to fade. I was able to pause. To breath. To think for a second. And I was able to conclude that this was an incredible experience. That this was simply a magical moment for my child. An opportunity that most adults don’t get, let alone seven-year-olds. And I had to get over myself and remember that my daughter has a really bright light in her. It’s been there since the day she was born. I know it. And I can’t stomp on her light. I have to embrace it and help it shine. 

And I was left wondering why I had this knee jerk reaction to cringe in embarrassment at the suggestion of my daughter participating in this show. Why did it bother me so deeply?

If I’m being totally honest, I’ve told Scotland too many times that it’s not all about her. Mostly when she’s gotten jealous of her brother’s attention. But I’ll admit it’s also been during moments when she’s been performing or dancing or singing at events that aren’t hers. A wedding where she takes over the dance floor. A concert where she is standing and dancing when everyone else is seated. But I need to understand that she isn’t doing these things to get attention. She isn’t doing it to take away from the others around her. She is dancing and singing because she likes to do those activities. It brings her joy. If there is music playing, she is going to dance. Just like if there is a pool, Idris isn’t only going to get into the water, but he is going to do a flip into it. Because it brings him joy. They aren’t doing it to show off. To make others feel lesser. It is all about doing what makes them happy.

And this leads me to a very real concern I have for my kids. A worry that they will be called out as obnoxious. Arrogant. Showoffs. And it is a real problem to me because what happens when we call people showoffs as kids, and later as adults too, is that we force them to dampen their joy. We essentially ask them to sink and slump and hide. We ask them to devalue themselves. To weaken themselves. And it’s all in an effort to make the rest of us feel better about ourselves. 

I’ve been reading more about showoff culture and there is a whole phycological concept of showing off that is due to a person’s insecurities. This is the side of being a showoff that is seen as negative. It’s intentional by definition. It’s a coping mechanism and might have a purpose but it also has a lot of negative connotations. Synonyms of the term showoff are peacock, boaster, bragger and even narcissist. I will say, my daughter has been taught in school to not boast. She brings it up way more often than I’d anticipated for a seven-year-old.

But I am much more interested in the flip side of this. Not the people who feel the need to showoff but those who feel the need to call out others for ‘showing off’ and especially during the instances when they aren’t actually showing off. They’re purely doing something well.

The dictionary definition of someone who is a showoff is: A person who acts pretentiously or who publicly parades themselves, their possessions, or their accomplishments.

But my question is, where do confidence and pride fit into the equation? Where does natural talent fit in? Because I think we’ve all seen, or experienced it ourselves, someone calling out someone else for showing off when in actuality they’re simply doing a task and doing it well.

I hope Jeremy doesn’t mind me saying this, but it reminds me of him in the Pilates studio. For years Jeremy has worked out in the Pilates studio in between clients. This is expected of instructors. Especially at big box gyms. To show that you are practicing the craft on your own time. Turns out, Jeremy is naturally good at Pilates. His background in gymnastics and springboard/platform diving enables him to do a lot of the advanced exercises that people like me will never be able to do. Not for a lack of effort, just simply due to structural inhibitions. I don’t bend like he can. And for years, he has experienced being called a showoff. And I will say it gets under his skin. Rightly so.

What is the alternative? Should he, a strong and healthy man who is capable of doing the advanced work, tone it down? Should he be slightly less good at the work? Should he think first of the people walking by who can potentially feel badly about their own shortcomings when they witness his abilities?

No. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t have to dilute his talents to make others around him more comfortable. He should be encouraged to shine and to do his very best. And we, collectively, should be able to see his skills and only say, ‘wow, great job, can you teach me to do that one day?’. Why is our impulse to diminish his talents and to bring him down to our level? It’s truly so shitty.

I think it goes back to our own insecurities. That watching someone else be good at something brings out our own wishes that we could also be good. We are essentially jealous and wish we could have that talent. But I am a firm believer that we are all talented. Only no one tells us that. No one opens our eyes to the possibility of greatness because they are too busy telling us to not showoff and to not be obnoxious. Telling us to be quieter, to hide, to not stand out. To be more normal. To follow the standards and the rules. Sadly, some talents deviate from the status quo and are therefore never discovered. 

This culture of telling kids to not be the center of attention and to blend in and not showoff can really screw a person up. And clearly, I have baggage surrounding this concept. There is something deep within me that makes me feel the need to cover my face in embarrassment when my kids start singing and dancing at the park when everyone else is kicking around a ball. Something that makes me want my kids to hide their personalities when they are being a little too loud.

I don’t want my kids to be seen as ‘showy’. As being conceited and vain. But there is a difference between being a narcissist and being proud and secure. The latter is what I’m trying to teach my kids. I want to enable them to lean into their natural abilities, to be secure in their individuality, and to be enthusiastic about their joys in life. I want to help remind them to not be quiet. To not sit down and shut up. 

As much as I dislike telling a kid to wait their turn and that it isn’t their moment yet, I do understand that mentality. I do think we need to make sure we respect those around us. If someone is on the stage that doesn’t mean my kids get to go up there and steal the show. But if they’re invited? If they are called up to participate? Then who am I to take that opportunity away from them?

I want to be supportive to my kids. I want to be their cheerleader and their guide. I want to allow them to be loud and proud. To not care what others think. To not put others feeling before their own. 

But also, they need to consider the feelings of others. They can’t walk all over people, stepping on shoulders and keeping those around them down so they can rise further. I don’t want them to be cutthroat and disrespectful. I don’t want them to purposefully steal the show. I don’t want them to boast in the face of someone who doesn’t have the same opportunities as them.

I guess what I’m trying to figure out is how to push my kids to unapologetically be themselves and to be fully alive. To experience all of what life can offer without anyone holding them back. But still teach them to respect others. To respect their time and space. To in a sense not always be the center of attention.

I don’t want Scotland to go to a concert and jump up onto the stage and take the microphone out of the singer’s hands and make it her moment. But I do want her to say yes when she is invited up there. When she has permission.

And then this is where it gets even trickier because we are so often told, especially as girls, to wait for permission. And a lot of the time it never comes. So sometimes we do need to just get up on stage and try. But not while stealing the show from someone else. 

There are so many layers to this topic and I’m sure I will find many more aspects as I peel each layer away. This will likely be an ongoing dilemma for me as I parent. But I do think I’m on the right track. Asking the right questions and looking for the right answers.

Ultimately, I want to encourage my kids to shine. To not let anyone dim their light. Because people will try. People will do anything to bring them down. My job is to not be that person in their lives. I can’t be the one to tell them to be quiet. I am not going to be the person who tells them it’s not their turn. That they have to wait. That it’s not all about them. They don’t need that from me. They will get that enough from their peers, from teachers, from society, from social media. 

My job is to tell them to shout. To dance. To sing. My job as their parent is to remind them that they can do it. That they can do anything and that they can do it with my support. I will continue to encourage them to use their voices and be proud of their skills. To show the world what they have to offer and not to hold back.

I so wish I could have done that for you. I wish I could have encouraged you to be louder. To be prouder. Because you were truly special. You had a light that wanted to shine brighter. And I hope you know I saw that in you. Everyone did. I hope you did too.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel