Reading · Moms of Bigs with Esther Joy Goetz

“Maybe one of the bravest things a mom can do is stop measuring love by how much she knows.” (Esther Joy Goetz)

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about information.

Which probably isn’t the most exciting way to begin a newsletter, but stay with me.

Actually, I’m not even sure it’s information I’ve been thinking about. It’s more the feeling I get when I realize I didn’t know something.

I have this one kid who will casually mention a movie they saw a few weeks ago, or a hard day at work, or a trip to the ER for the 22 stitches they got from cutting themself when cutting an onion, and somewhere in the middle of the story I’ll interrupt and ask, “Wait...when did this happen?”

“Oh, a couple weeks ago.”

[A couple weeks ago?!?!??!] buzzes around in my head and hopefully doesn’t make it out onto my face.

I don’t say much after that. I just keep listening. But if I’m honest, there’s usually a tiny little (okay sometimes, it’s big) ache that shows up before I even hear the rest of the story.

Not because I’m upset they made a decision without me. I don’t think that’s it.

And not because I think they’re overly hiding something from me.

It’s a lot harder and confusing to explain than that.

It’s almost as if my mama heart cups my ear and hiss whispers, If I didn’t know about this...does that mean we’re not as close as we used to be?

UGH! I don’t particularly like admitting that.

It sounds a little needy. And maybe it is.
Or maybe it’s just being a mom.

I’ve been trying to decide which. I’ll go with the second. It’ll make me feel not so crazy.

When my kids were little (wasn’t that like 2 days ago?), I knew everything about their lives, maybe even more than I wanted to at times.

I knew who had forgotten their lunch.
Who was nervous about the spelling test.
Which friend had hurt their feelings (“Mom, Kayla told me she didn’t want to play with me at recess!”)
Which stuffed animal absolutely, under ZERO circumstances, could not be washed because it would apparently ruin its magical powers to keep the monsters under the bed where they belonged.

The little stories came home every afternoon, mixed in with crumpled papers and scary lunch box remnants and shoes that somehow that stayed by the door until the next morning.

Information and connection felt like the same thing. I never needed to wonder if they might not be.

“When my kids were little, I got to live inside the same story. But that’s not true anymore. And I’m sad about that. Yeah, I’m still part of the story, but I’m definitely not in every chapter. I guess it’s just one more grief I’m making room for in this clunky season of being their mom.”

I wrote those words a few days ago in my journal, and then I just stared at them for a while (and now I’m staring at them again as I write them to you).

Because I think that’s what’s been going on inside me with this “not telling me everything anymore.” It’s plain, old-fashioned grief.

And here’s where it gets tricky. I’m not sad that my kids are becoming independent. I genuinely wanted that for them. I still do.

I wanted them to go out into the big wide world and build lives they love.
I wanted them to find people they adore and adore them right back.
I wanted them to make decisions without “running it by their mom.”

It’s just that somewhere along the way I forgot that all of those beautiful things would naturally mean there would be parts of their lives I wouldn’t know about until later.

Or maybe not at all. OOF. That hits me right in the mom gut.

So me, being me, took that scary question and asked it again to myself (this time, trying to not hiss whisper, but be lots more tender): What if they don’t tell me everything? Does it mean we’re still close?

Instead of an answer, another question bubbled up in me:

What if information and connection aren’t actually the same thing?

Hmmm….I don’t know why it had never occurred to me before. Because I think the answer is that they are, in fact, NOT the same thing. Phew.

Information feels good because it’s tangible. I can measure it.

They called.
They texted.
They told me the whole story.
I know everything.

It’s all very concrete. And it sure feels like we’re close for sure.

Connection isn’t like that. It’s harder and kind of impossible to quantify, to nail down, to say, “this is it.” Which is very inconvenient for those of us who like evidence. Yes. That would be me.

I smiled when I wrote that because my husband would probably laugh and tell you that I’ve never met a detail I didn’t want to know. I want to hear it all.

He’s not wrong.

I like context. Who was there? What did they say? Was anyone mad about the thing that happened the other night?

I like understanding what’s happening. Was your boss kind to you? Did your professor give you a hard time over that assignment? Did you like the movie you went to? Why or why not?

And truth be told, I like feeling included and that I still have a place in their lives. That’s the rub and that’s really what I want. I want to be connected.

So if the answer to my question is “NO, they are not the same!” where does that leave me? And them? What does it mean to be close? Connected?

Even up until this whole epiphany this week, I probably would have told you that the child who shared the most with me was also the child I was closest to.

Now I don’t think that’s true.

My four kids are wonderfully different.

One thinks out loud. Another thinks quietly. One likes to process while the story is still unfolding (I literally know all the details every step of the way, down to the recipes she’s making for dinner). Another seems to disappear into themselves for a while and then emerge weeks later with a fully formed conclusion.

BUT none of those things say very much about how much they love me. Or how connected we are.

They just say a lot about who they are.

That’s been one of the tricky invitations of this season of motherhood.

To stop asking my children to communicate in the ways that make me feel secure, and instead learn to recognize and receive the ways they naturally live and love.

That’s harder than it sounds. At least it has been for me.

Because I still love the stories. And I can certainly tell them enthusiastically that when they do share.

Please tell me about the ice cream shop you found. Oh, and also, your favorite flavor they sell.
Tell me about the neighbor who said something ridiculous.
Tell me about the cut-your-own flower field trip you took? Did you make a bouquet?
Tell me about the recipe that completely flopped.
And please please tell me if you are getting married or at the hospital or got a promotion or whatever.

I love stories because stories are where lives are lived. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting that. I hope that’s true.

But I’ve started asking myself a different question.

Not, Why didn’t they tell me? Basically, why aren’t they like me?

But, Do they know they can always be themselves with me, not who I want them to be?

When they walk through my front door, do they feel like they have to edit who they are?

Can my introverted child simply be quiet?
Can the one who loves to talk fill the room with words?
Can the fiercely independent one make choices I never would have made and know I’m still cheering them on?
Can they disagree with me without fearing they’ll lose me?
Can they become someone I never expected...and still know they belong?
Can they tell me things because they want to, not because they have to? And in their own timeframe?

The older my kids get, the more I think that’s the kind of connection that matters most.

Not that I’m the first person they call.
Not that I know every detail.
Not even that I understand every decision.

But that somewhere deep inside them is a settled knowing that says, There is one place in this world where I can be me and I never have to earn my belonging.

Maybe that’s the connection I’ve been trying to build all along.

But hey, if they want to tell me the long, involved version, I’m definitely here for every single word.

From my wanting to hear it all mama heart to yours,
Esther

💬 Mom-to-Mom Reflection:

What do you think about this whole information vs connection idea? I’d love to hear all about it. Or anything else you want to share, because I love comments!!

What If They Don't Tell Me Everything?

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