What are you looking for?

So it’s summer, and the kids are home. And my son, who loves to cook and does so frequently, just asked me where the teaspoons are. Two days ago, he asked me to grab him a pair of socks. Yesterday, he asked me to text his friend. And I calmly responded, without snark, that I was not actually his personal assistant. (Okay. Minimal snark.) These requests are pretty frequent in my house.

In April, before I headed to Thailand, said son was swimming at the pool, and accused me of not making lunch for him (we were at a birthday party for one of our other kids. I was fortunate to be in my right mind). My husband tilted his head. “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

My husband looked at me. “You need to go to Thailand.”

I nodded. “I need to go to Thailand.”

Training in…helplessness?

I work hard to care for my kids. They frequently have a hot breakfast before school, alongside their packed lunches; I’m highly involved in their lives. Plus, I want to live a life poured out, where I’m dying to myself; I believe the greatest in God’s kingdom is the one who serves all (Mark 9:35). Parenthood is an exercise in setting aside my own selfishness, which is far more stealthy than I’d like to admit.

But when do I cross the line from empowering to enabling?

And is there a chance I might actually be creating needs for me to meet…to make myself feel better?

Um. Yup.

Reading my enneagram profile (a form of personality test) even a few months ago, I read that my personality type, the helper, can use their helping to manipulate others toward meeting my own emotional needs: to be needed, to be thought well of, to be adored, etc. (“Isn’t she a great mom!”) In fact, in a way that drives my husband a little nuts, I’ll even create ways for me to help others so I’ll be needed.

Learned Helplessness

Once at a funeral reception when my oldest was four, I saw a friend’s child of the same age in the kitchen shimmy onto the counter, grab herself a bowl, and make herself a meal. She had a single parent, so was used to being more independent. But while part of my heart hurt a little for the girl–used to taking care of herself at 4–I thought, I’m not sure my son could do that. But it’s interesting to know he can. 

I’ve seen it in Africa, too: kids 10 years old hauling water and making dinner. In fact, I am guilty of reminding my kids when they complain about chores that my dad got up at 5:30 AM to milk cows, and milked them again at 5:30 in the evening. (I come from a long line of farm people, and when my kids complain about their domestic tasks, I imagine my ancestors rolling over in their graves. Or at least rolling their eyes.)

My point: What if our kids are capable of more?

Google “learned helplessness”, and you’ll find “a condition in which a person suffers from a sense of powerlessness, arising from a traumatic event or persistent failure to succeed. It is thought to be one of the underlying causes of depression.”

See, when our kids start doing things for themselves, they get a consistent message: I can. 

But what about…

Perhaps this is making you arch a feminist eyebrow.  I guess I’m hoping to skirt around that simply because how we care for each other spans across genders. Columnist and political analyst Andrea Tantaros writes,

….There is a common thread between the genders: it’s kindness, respect, and mutual admiration. …Women are implicitly being told not to be kind, thoughtful, and nice to the men they love because doing so is supposedly just one step away from being barefoot and pregnant and watching Leave It to Beaver. …Acts of service has been a love language—a way to express affection—since time immemorial.

…If everybody is self-involved in their own happiness, then everyone is going to be unhappy because no one is going to be doing nice things for anyone.*

So what I’m not saying is, “Do you feel tired of serving your family?” I really just hope to address the question of whether we’re occasionally stepping beyond equipping our kids with unseen resources to face the world…and sometimes just doing for them. (This post on boundaries is a great start if, like me, you forget where you put yours.)

So last night, when I arrived home late, I found the kitchen kind of…grody. This was after I specifically told all the kids to clean up after dinner. Initially, I was ticked. And you know what I started to do? Wipe up the counters. (Such a classic martyr. Good grief.) But instead, when the kids emerged from the show they were watching, I called down from upstairs, “Be sure to clean up the kitchen like we talked about!” And I went back to reading my book in bed.

No, it wasn’t as clean as if I would have done it. But a kitchen cleaned by kids learning to pick up after themselves, and that their mom is not their maid? Priceless.

Like this post? You might like

Overfunctioning at Home? Here’s One Way to Stop

5 Ways to Stop Overfunctioning as a Parent This Year

Me, Overfunctioning: 3 Bad Things It’s Teaching My Kids

Love Says No: How Boundaries Express True Care

*Tantaros, Andrea. Tied Up in Knots: How Getting What We Want Made Women Miserable. New York: Broadside Books (2016)