John Holt’s overriding message in his pioneering book How Children Learn can be condensed into one very simple concept: Trust children. He explains, however, that we adults find this difficult because “to trust children we must first learn to trust ourselves, and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted.”

Coming face-to-face with the realization that I actually had to learn how to trust myself was probably the most unexpected revelation of motherhood for me. Nothing prepared me for the learning that would take place alongside my rite of passage into motherhood. The enormity and the pace of it has been exponential, catapulting me headlong onto the steepest learning curve of my life!

Notwithstanding the sheer volume of childrearing data and anecdotal evidence already available, I soon discovered that it was ultimately my responsibility, both to my children and to myself, to make good parenting choices. I had to trust myself to sift through the barrage of information and make wise decisions regarding my children.

I am eternally thankful for the wisdom of the lactation consultant, Johanna, in our breastfeeding support group when my first daughter was born. “You are your child’s best advocate,” she said repeatedly, trying to instill self-confidence in us new moms. Mainly, she was addressing the difficulties and uncertainties we were experiencing as nursing moms in a bottle-feeding culture, but her wise words have continued to serve me well in all areas of mothering.

Looking back over the past eight years of motherhood, I recognize a pattern of learning which, if not exactly forced upon me, was certainly thrust upon me, as I navigated my way through the various stages. It’s as if each stage wisened me up, toughened me up even, in readiness for graduation to the next stage. In the words of the Greek philosopher Aristotle, “What we have to learn to do, we learn by doing.”

Having swum against the proverbial tide from the start in my parenting, I have placed myself well outside of what’s considered the norm in our society, and often find motherhood a constant battle of wits against those who think they know what’s best for me and my family! Those supposed experts – who stand in judgment, ready to pounce on my every move that doesn’t meet with their approval – threaten to render me defenseless in the face of attack.

Ever the optimist, though, I am sure that the external pressure I’ve had to overcome and the sometimes painful life lessons I’ve learned have given me the confidence and strength I need to be true to myself in how I raise my children.

There is one particular incident that epitomizes the developmental leap in my self-understanding and in my deeper understanding of others, although at the time the incident occurred, I was too frazzled and upset to see it as anything but another nail in the coffin of my desire to follow my heart in mothering.

We were staying with my parents- in-law for a few days and my daughter Grace was in full toddler flight, at about two-and-a-half years old. Eleanor, her sister, still a babe in arms, was inclined to charm adoring adults and not yet able to wreak havoc on the same scale as her precocious and determined older sister. It was Sunday dinner, that holiest of family gatherings and, in addition to Grace’s and Eleanor’s grandparents, a number of their uncles and aunts were also present for the occasion, quite possibly in our honor as we were home in Ireland on vacation from the U.S.

I’m not clear on the actual run-up to the particular incident, because I was busy nursing baby Eleanor and my husband was watching Grace. Suddenly the pleasant family atmosphere was shattered and Grace was lying on the floor next to the dining table, kicking and screaming, crying inconsolably, her chubby little legs flying indiscriminately, endangering anyone who dared to come near her. Overwhelmed for whatever reason, not unusual for a toddler, she was beyond the point of reason and was not responding well to verbal requests to stop kicking. Before I could register what was happening, my mother-in-law was taking control and was ready to hit Grace, all the while shouting to my husband (her eldest son) about lack of discipline and the need to put manners on her or we’d never be able to control her, how she’d walk all over us and we’d live to regret it and so on.

In a blur, without saying a word (although I’m sure the look on my face spoke a thousand words) I handed baby Eleanor over to my husband and scooped Grace up into my arms lovingly. I left the room as quickly as possible, away from judging eyes and unwelcome interference. I felt very alone, as the other family members at the table had either agreed openly with my mother- in-law or kept their silence.

My immediate concern was to protect Grace, to remove her from the situation before it degenerated further. Close to tears myself, we retreated to the relative quiet of the sitting room, where I held Grace and nursed her back to peace and calm and, in doing so, managed to recover some for myself too. Ironically, as the moments passed, I felt a sense of achievement that I had successfully turned around a very uncomfortable situation and allowed everyone to escape with a certain amount of dignity intact: Grace recovered and was soon back to her delightful, sociable and happy self; my initial anger and upset had given way to politeness for the sake of keeping the peace; having quickly removed ourselves from the fray, I had minimized the negative impact on the rest of the family.

After a relatively short time, Grace and I returned to the fold and the matter was apparently forgotten. Everyone got on with eating dinner, and a sense of normality was restored, on the surface at least. Although I had been able to regain my composure while nursing Grace in the quiet of the other room, I was well aware that my resentment was bubbling just below the surface. Like lava in a semi-dormant volcano, it wouldn’t have taken much for me to erupt into uncontrolled rage. I couldn’t trust myself to have a calm and reasoned discussion and I was quite certain that no one else could either, given the chasm between us in terms of parenting. So it seemed sensible to play along with the happy family facade.

I interrogated my husband later, in private, to find out what had gone on after Grace and I had absented ourselves from the debate. In a rather defensive manner, he explained that his mother had voiced her annoyance at Grace kicking and damaging her dining-room furniture and that he was inclined to agree with her: Children should not be allowed to run amok like that and damage property, especially other people’s property.

Initially, my husband and I were entrenched in our own interpretations of what had transpired. He believed that the root of the problem was the actual or potential damage to the furniture, was in sympathy with his mother and felt that we needed to employ stricter disciplinary measures. I, on the other hand, was still confused and frustrated, feeling that somehow there was more to it than this.

I was churning inside: On one level I could understand that it was not acceptable for Grace to kick her grandparents’ furniture and that we, as parents, had a responsibility to teach our children to respect people and property; however, on another level, I felt that everyone had overreacted since Grace was still a toddler at the time and, in any case, since she didn’t have shoes on, couldn’t really inflict much lasting damage on solid wooden furniture. I was fighting emotional turmoil on two fronts: my mother-in-law’s disapproval of and interference in our parenting and the fact that my husband and I were in disagreement about how to deal with the issues involved.

Now, the relevance of this story is not to show that my mother-in-law and I have very different approaches to parenting (in that regard, we’re probably no different from most mothers and daughters-in-law), but to highlight and share the important lesson I learned from the experience. In trying to make sense of it afterwards, and in trying to explain my frustrations to my husband, I gained a sense of clarity and understanding that went beyond the kicking of the furniture and, indeed, beyond my own outrage and fierce sense of maternal protectiveness towards my daughter.

What followed was a liberating sense of relief. Instead of beating myself up over what was portrayed as our short- comings as parents or locking myself into a position of superiority, I came to a place of honesty and enlightenment. I never doubted that removing Grace and nursing her back to calm, rather than punishing her, was the correct response in the situation, but until then it was simply a gut feeling. I hadn’t been able to decipher the real issues, hadn’t been able to differentiate between what my mother- in-law was saying literally and the hidden meaning or agenda behind her words. With my newfound clarity, I was able to articulate something that had previously been intangible.

I could see that the true problem was not the potential damage to the furniture, but rather our response (or lack of response) to Grace’s behavior. If my mother-in-law’s concern was the furniture, then my removing Grace from the room would have resolved it and the matter would be laid to rest. However, the real issue here was a deeper and more fundamental one, and the fuss over the furniture was simply an excuse used to justify my mother-in-law’s outburst. Hers was not a genuine grievance – it was about power and control, about her way being the only way. Rather than trying to help and offer the benefit of her experience, her comments exposed a lack of compassion and respect for Grace and for us as parents. By removing Grace from the room and away from the furniture, I had in effect, called her bluff!

The crux of the matter was that my mother-in-law felt that we should have hit Grace, as punishment for her behavior. She wanted us to exert “proper parental authority” over her. Used to a more controlling style of parenting, my mother-in-law was annoyed that she wasn’t in charge in this particular situation; I had removed Grace to safety before she could take control or dictate further. So complaining about the furniture was, in fact, disingenuous on her part, when the real bee in her bonnet was that we weren’t meting out what she considered appropriate punishment.

What a moment of revelation for me – an epiphany! A dramatic shift had occurred in my understanding. Instead of taking the negative comments at face value, I took the time to look deeper and ask myself a couple of revealing questions: “What principles are underpinning their criticism?” and “What beliefs are informing their opinions?”

By patiently unpicking the events as objectively as possible, I was able to uncover the underlying messages and see the truth of the situation. Having worked this out in the privacy of my own head and heart, I felt a huge sense of relief and, yes – if I’m honest – vindication. However, I had no desire to use my hard-won insight to challenge my mother-in-law. Nor did I want to engage in a parenting debate with her.

That I could successfully look beyond the obvious, beyond the naked criticism, and identify the true core issues, was immensely rewarding and gratifying. Any mother who has chosen to parent in a way that falls outside of our cultural norm knows the value of realizing that the criticism leveled at us is empty and comes from sheer prejudice, closed-mindedness, ignorance and sometimes even arrogance.

My mother-in-law is a very loving and devoted grandmother, who spends a lot of time with her grandchildren and they, in turn, love her very much. So the purpose here is not to vilify her but to show how, through this one incident, I was able to come to a more mature and perceptive understanding of my role as a mother. I learned a valuable lesson, one which I have drawn on many times since, especially in areas relating to our ongoing controversial decision not to send our daughters to school. I feel that I have grown as a result, not only as a parent, but also as a person. And I can move forward with integrity and an increased sense of confidence.

So now when someone tells one of my six- and eight-year-old daughters to stop running or to get down from that tree in case she hurts herself or to put on shoes in case she injures her foot, I quickly run through my mental checklist to ascertain if she is genuinely in danger or if it’s simply the case that this person feels that whatever my daughter is doing is inappropriate. I can thus get an honest assessment of the situation and trust that my response is based on my own good judgment and not on someone else’s definition of what’s right or acceptable.

As I now have a clearer window into my mother-in-law’s parenting philosophy and the thinking that underpins her attitudes and opinions in such matters, I can more easily come to terms with (though not always agree with) her ways. I try to differentiate between our differences as mothers and her ability to be a loving grandmother to Grace and Eleanor. The realization that she and I are on different planets in most areas of parenting has allowed me to stop wasting precious time and emotional energy trying to gain her approval where it’s not humanly possible.

In terms of her commentary on our parenting, I feel that she has lost credibility. Having seen beyond the smoke screen on this particular occasion, my eyes have been opened. I am not prepared to entertain her criticisms as valid, and I no longer allow her comments to undermine my thinking or my decision-making. Instead, I have the confidence to trust my own judgment in matters where I know that her opinion is based on values and beliefs far removed from mine.

I have also learned that I can rise above the implied criticism and hurtful accusations, seeing them not as a reflection on my parenting, but rather a reflection on her inability to trust my husband and me, as grown adults and parents in our own right, to make sensible and thoughtful decisions about how we raise our children. Lessons like that don’t come from books or even from good teachers, but have to be learned through living life with all its ups and downs.

 

Pauline Mary Curley is an Irish unschooling mom, lucky enough to divide her time between the West of Ireland and New Jersey. In a previous life in Europe (pre-children), she worked as a structural engineer, a trade union representative, an adult literacy and numeracy teacher, and co-founded a Women’s Center in Luton, England. She offers "All About Ireland" homeschool workshops and one of her dreams is to encourage North American life learning families to visit and explore Ireland. Visit her website.