“We’re going outside to check on the fire, mom!” Eli (age 9) called out to me as he and Andre (age 7) ran out the back door.
I realized that Mike was in the shower, and my body immediately felt tense. Check on the fire… alone?
Mike and the boys had been going in and out all day, feeding the remnants of fallen trees from hurricane Ian to the fire pit in the back yard. They worked hard in the hot sun as they dragged large limbs from the wooded area over to the side of the pit, using their feet to step on branches and snap them in half. Mike supervised as Eli used a small electric saw to cut through larger pieces of wood. They each claimed their own poker stick to move the hot ash around and blow air into the fire to keep it alive. They had figured out a system using the skills they learned from watching Mike.
I looked out the window to make sure that they were being safe. I watched as Eli ran back and forth from the woods to the fire pit, breaking and throwing in sticks. Andre stayed close by with his poker stick, tending to the smoldering heap. A wave of fear washed over my body. Something might happen to them if I allow this to go on- fire is dangerous! I placed my hand on the doorknob, preparing to run outside and lecture them.
Instead, I paused and took a few breaths. What is happening right now? I thought.
Right now, my children are safe.
Right now, they are working together to build a fire.
Right now, they are using the fire safety guidelines that we have shared with them over the years.
The fear left my body and I stopped feeling like I needed to be with them.
I realized in that moment that I don’t need to rescue my kids.
Suddenly, they both threw down their poker sticks and started running toward the house. They barged in the doorway, bringing the smell of smoky air with them. I became acutely aware in that moment and took a mental snapshot of my kids. They were covered in ash with blistered hands, out of breath from running so fast, and smiling from ear to ear.
Eli put his hands on his knees to catch his breath and looked up at me, “The fire went out and we got it going again!”
“We did it all by ourselves!” Andre added.
They jumped up and down with excitement.
“I am so proud of you! Can I see it?” I asked.
We went out to the back yard and they explained everything to me; the techniques they used, the issues they ran into, and how they problem solved and persevered. I was so impressed that they built a fire completely on their own. They were left feeling accomplished and confident.
When we become parents, we bring our baggage with us. Our life experiences have created unique lenses in which we look through, but our experiences are not our child’s experiences. Our kids are living their own lives and gaining their own understanding of life. Projecting our fears onto them robs them of the opportunity to learn and grow organically. Of course, we want to keep our children safe, that’s part of our job as parents. I wouldn’t let my toddler play with fire without supervision, but fire isn’t inherently bad. In fact, knowing how to make and manage a fire is an important life skill that many children never acquire.
Compulsively stepping in to rescue our children from situations that we have deemed dangerous, inappropriate, or wrong because of our own personal experiences can massively impact the path of their lives. Responding to these fears with compassion and curiosity will help us heal, and allow our children to live authentically.
How do we let go of our fears?
Pay attention. Notice when fear creeps in, and get curious about why it’s happening and how it feels in your body.
Don’t be so quick to say NO. Sometimes we automatically say no to things that have previously felt unsafe or were not allowed in our own childhood. Start saying YES more often!
Talk to your child. Answer questions, have conversations, and be with them while they explore things that make you feel uncomfortable. Discomfort is not the enemy, fear is.
I sat by the fire for the rest of the night and enjoyed the warmth that my boys created for our family; I watched as they made new discoveries, allowed them to have their own experiences, and quietly cheered them on from the sidelines.