Parenting prompts personal change

Whenever I am asked the most influential person in my life, I respond, “That’s easy; there are three.

“The three I gave birth to.”

In my 36 years as a mom, no one has transformed my personality, changed my tastes and my beliefs, or opened up my mind more than my three girls. Through them, I have grown up.

No, I don’t mean that they made me more responsible. Most adults can’t help but become more responsible with parenthood.

I mean that they have helped me become me.

Before I had children, I was a timid, insecure person who never voiced my opinion and constantly fretted about offending others.

Before children, I never dreamed of challenging a medical professional, a school principal, or any authority figure (a category, sad to say, that included my then-husband) for fear of losing their approval.

Before children, I wouldn’t have dreamed of writing a letter to the editor – let alone speaking to crowds of thousands about a controversial issue.

Before children, I was passive, compliant and unassertive. Growing up a child of alcoholics, I had learned to blend into the woodwork. Don’t make waves. Do as you’re told. Take your lumps and swallow your disappointment.

Those were the themes in my military household – where, surrounded by four brothers, I also learned that the ability to withstand abuse without flinching or complaining was something to be prized.

So when my older brothers left the house, and my parents’ fights grew violent, I saw little choice but to stoically assume the mothering role for my three younger siblings.

From age 12 until college, I spent my days fearfully anticipating the evenings. Would I have to hide the car keys from my mother, who was sinking deeper into her alcoholic haze? Would my siblings and I huddle in a closet, trying in vain to shut out the angry blows and shouting?

Looking back at the anxious, insecure adolescent I was when I met my future husband, it’s easy to understand my attraction to him. He was Mr. Orderly, Mr. Even-Keel. With him, I never had to worry about what came next. What a relief to come home every day to predictability and routine – to someone I could rely on to stay the same!

Until the children were born, that is.

My first foray into breaking out of meek-and-mild shackles involved standing up to an overbearing mother-in-law as a brand new mom. She insisted on buying me a bottle sterilizer, and relentlessly worked at undermining my confidence – and my determination to breastfeed my daughter.

“No,” I finally found the courage to tell her. “She is better off with breastfeeding.”

In time, I learned to stand up to my husband as well. The first time he belittled one of my daughters, I did the unthinkable: I told him off. Appalled by his evening and weekend retreats into garage and TV and his lack of interest in his kids, I began insisting that he spend at least occasional time with them – and was not above staging a walk-out when he refused.

By the time my oldest came home from second grade complaining about her exclusion from a special enrichment class, I was finding it easier to speak up on the girls’ behalf. I marched into school without hesitation or a hint of my usual self-consciousness or fear of disapproval – this was about my daughter! – and saw to it that she got to apply to the class.

Evolving tastes, new interests
From then on, I was an activist. In time, my experiences in the schools actually caused me to do a 180 in my political beliefs and to change political parties.

As I advocated for my children’s needs, I became more confident and outgoing. Being a mom felt so natural to me, it was if I’d been born to play the role.

Before children, I could be a hot-head at times. But I wanted to be a good role model, so I learned to be patient and even-tempered.

Before children, I preferred meat and potatoes, and never dreamed of eating veggie pizza, tofu, or meatless spaghetti. (Pretty bad, isn’t it, when your kids have to teach you to eat healthily!)

Before children, I never thought I’d find myself at bluegrass concerts, cross country meets, or poetry slams in a coffeehouse (and, what’s more, liking them).

I was never a music lover. But now that my oldest plays classical and flamenco guitar for a living, I have a new appreciation.

I had no use for cats, having acquired my mother’s distaste for them -- without ever being around one. Now that my daughters have adopted cats, I’m a proud kitty grandma and cat-sitter.

Before children, my reading tastes ran to escapist fiction. Now, I read politics, current events, education, and travel, so I can keep up with their interests and their changing world.

New beginnings
In helping my kids’ pursue their interests, I’ve learned that my mind had been closed in so many ways. (Just ask my social-activist daughter, who pounces whenever I let slip an un-”woke” or sexist expression from my stodgy Fifties’ vocabulary.)

Before children, I was horrified at the idea of speaking to even the smallest of groups. But as I got involved in the schools and became passionate about education, I found myself writing letters to the editor, lobbying my legislators, and speaking to capacity crowds at State Board of Education hearings. Today, I can face a crowd and not even break a sweat.

Before children, I was in a safe, comfy marriage. My husband liked meek, passive, roll-with-the-punches Patty. He liked that I echoed his political opinions and that I catered to his likes and dislikes without a murmur. Most of all, he liked that he got to spend the family budget on expensive hobbies and I never protested. I wasn’t into clothes, jewelry, or possessions – so why not let him indulge his passions?

But once we had a family to spend the budget on, things were different. When he balked at the kids’ soccer league fees, and the cost of taking trips to tournaments, I lobbied fiercely on their behalf.

In the end, transforming from the passive 19-year-old my husband fell for into an assertive, outspoken woman cost me my marriage. After more than 30 years together, my husband left me for someone who would cater to him and look up to him the way I once had.

At first, the walk-out threw me for a loop. But with the help of my new-found confidence, my now-grown daughters, and a supportive circle of friends, I got over the loss of my identity and financial security. I actually began to revel in the unpredictability of my new life and the satisfaction of taking care of myself.

Putting myself first – what a novel thought! With time, I began to see the break-up not as the loss of my marriage, but as the gain of the real me.

None of it would have happened without my children. I owe them my self.

After a third of a century as a parent, I am still learning from my remarkable daughters. In the space of a few decades, they have brought me out of my comfort zone and taught me what a limited life I led before they came into the picture.

I can’t wait to see what they will teach me in the decades to come.