A Love Letter to Parents

and the ones reparenting themselves

A note-

I am not an expert.

I am a mother that has been mothered and unmothered. Whether you are a parent or simply doing your best to reparent the parts of you, the whole of you, in an effort to heal, this one’s for you.

While you read, lean into the word “kids” as a reference to your children, children you interact with, and your inner-kid. If I am suggesting something we offer kids I am suggesting you also offer it to yourself. You do not have to be a parent to living humans in order to find your place within the context of these letters.

Consider these an offering. Take what you need and leave the rest. Approach this with an open heart and open mind and with nuance. Let it be guidance or even something worth considering.

My children are still young. I haven’t parented teenagers. I do not have adult children. But I have been a teenager. I have been an adult that needed parents. I can’t say with certainty that I am getting this right. None of my suggestions are novel or new. I don’t think I’ve cracked any code or hacked any system. I find myself in a position to parent my kids and myself intuitively- to see us as a unit, a collective, a family but also as individuals with different needs, desires, and callings. I think about what we need as kids and adults- I lead with the knowing that these kids won’t be kids forever and that they are whole all on their own already. The best I can do for them and us and their peers and their future neighbors and their future partners and their kids is to love, see, and support them well while leading by example in the way I care for them, for others, and for myself. Healing generational trauma has to start somewhere. This is my starting point.

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To The Mother I Aspire to Be,

The mother I wish to be is safe and consistent, creative and courageous. She is patient and soft, playful and boundaried. He is a well of both knowledge and curiosity. They apologize, cry in front of her kids, and encourages debate and conflict resolution between adults to be observed. She is rested and relaxed, teaches her children to attune to themselves, learn their bodies, and trust their intuition. She believes in magic, wakes her children to see the moon and during the first snowfall. A mother that insists on experiences over things, kisses her husband and dances in the kitchen with him and her children, who builds forts and sand castles. The mother I wish to be is reliable and fierce and teaches his children to be the same. She unravels and unlearns with and for her kids. She teaches her children about community-care, individuality vs individualism, and practices what she preaches. She reads with and for the kids, she plays records and board games. She is present. She is a student as much as she is a teacher.

The mother I aspire to be is the mother I needed. This, in essence, is how I mother my children most days, try to anyways, and when I cannot or I don’t get it right, I apologize and let my aspirations carry me.

To (my) Kids,

You trust your inner knowing and listen to what you need. You communicate said needs, are curious and considerate enough to ask others, and nourish your communities through the language you use as well as your actions. You are free to be weird, to let go, to feel all your feelings, big and small. You say when something doesn’t feel good and you encourage others to do the same. Whatever you find joy in you call more of into your life and as a byproduct, you share with others. You recognize whatever privileges you possess and use them to help those around you. Whatever work you do, you find meaningful and most days it fills your cup. You understand and value enthusiastic consent. You advocate for people in and outside of your immediate world and for those that don’t have the same access as you. You are a keeper of boundaries, a soft place to land, and a practitioner of discernment. You create magic whenever you can, you are a lover, and understand the value of staying present. You say what you mean, and mean what you say.

You do not belong to me- you are of me.

I love you.

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To the new(ish) parents,

I know it doesn’t feel like you know your body or your partner’s face let alone your own right now. I know the weight of the world combined with the weight of caring for and tending to an entire life leaves you feeling lifeless and a life-force in tandem. I know you question every decision you make whether or not you say it out loud. I know you’re scared, exhausted, and yet coming absolutely undone by the love you are capable of feeling for another human. I know you feel like you’re at the mercy of timings and feedings and schedules and sanitizing and too-many-bags to pack just to go to the store and worry about any and everything there has ever existed to worry about and yet.

and yet and yet and yet.

I know the way you smell their heads and their clothes. I know the yearning that is the moment you know they have fallen into a deep sleep and you trace your finger over the bridge of their nose. I know how you want to wake them just to get another look. I know the times when you’re able to find your partner and think, there you are. I know there are days when it doesn’t matter how they came to be they just did and how lucky you feel. I know the intoxicating nature of hearing the sound of their laugh, their voice, their different cries. I know the ecstasy and relief of taking in a day that went mostly as planned. I know the songs that remind you of them and I know the way time stands still when you’re snuggling them in bed with nowhere to go.

Nothing is as both/and, yes/and, or nuanced as early parenthood.

Yes, your kids will sleep through the night someday.

Yes, your kids will (most likely) eat foods that aren’t white and even if they don’t as an adult perhaps that’s just who they are and we can sit in that and let it be okay.

Yes, you’re going to fuck it up.

Yes, you will sleep again someday although it will always be different.

Yes, it is going to be okay. You’re doing great.

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To the parents of slightly older kids,

If I could go back to the early months of either of my kids’ lives I would have already been healed enough to trust myself and yet. I wish I would have listened to my gut. I wish I would have never let someone make me feel bad for always picking up my baby when she cried. I wish I never fell into the diet-culture and wellness trap. I wish I would have made her a real cake for her first birthday instead of the no-gluten, no-dairy, no-refined sugar “cake” I made instead. I wish I would have been so much softer with myself. I wish I didn’t treat chores or basic hygiene as a “break” or luxury for as long as I did. I wish I asked for help. I wish that the world was so much softer with birthing parents. I know you have your own wish list that wears on you. I know the shame you feel for not unlearning sooner. I know you hate when you lose your temper, when you lash out, when you were the one doing the shaming. I know how big everything feels, how out of control. I know there’s a new something everyday to learn about, to undo, to stop. I know it feels like you can’t keep up with the horrors. I know you worry if you’re doing it right or if you have enough or are enough. I know it’s impossible to imagine the state of the world and therefore the state of your kid in 10, 20, 30 years. I know you stress about what they eat and what they watch and whether or not you should fight them to wear a coat. I know you can feel them untethering from you and becoming their own. I know you are scared. I know you are trying.

Yes, they’re going to eat something besides applesauce pouches.

Yes, they’re going to be okay if they only carried their coat around.

Yes, they are constantly influenced from thousands of places and people that aren’t you and isn’t their home but you are.

Yes, you are their home.

You are home.

Yes, it’s going to be okay. You’re doing great.

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I couldn’t do the cry-it-out method or any variation. Yes, I understand why some parents do. This isn’t to shame you into thinking you’ve done something wrong but rather nudge you to curiosity whether you have a newborn or a 10 year old. If a newborn can only communicate through crying and a 10 year old hollers and slams a door they are trying to tell us something even if something shouldn’t be wrong or there isn’t a reason. Crying is a baby’s way of staying alive, of communicating and (western) culture has us in a capitalistic chokehold of individualism. Certainly we don’t actually believe that babies are capable of speaking the words I am hungry or I am scared. Certainly we don’t actually believe that babies are born and therefore should “toughen-up” or not rely on someone or something to soothe.

We are built for connection and community. For consideration and care. We are not built for capitalism despite most things telling us otherwise. If my husband is crying I go to him. If my 8 year old is crying I go to her. If my 4 year old is crying I go to him.

I always have.

If you’re feeling defensive, I see you and I hold you there but I would like you to sit with your reasons why. I know you’re tired. I know you feel like if you don’t teach them to self-soothe and to fall asleep without you or a stuffy or a pacifier or or or you will have created a 36 year old crybaby that has never left your bed. When you tend to kids, babies, your inner kid, you build trust. You build intimacy. You build an environment where kids and teens and humans are comfortable asking for what they need. I’m not saying that if you did or do let your kids (or yourself) cry it out alone that you inherently don’t do or build any of these things- I’m just curious whether or not you would be willing to consider the idea of tending-to in a different light. Crying-it-out is the same as telling your toddler or your 10 year old to Stop Crying and why should they? Why should you? You shouldn’t. Let the tears fall, theirs too.

Feed your baby and your kid. Feed them what you eat and make. Feed them what they ask for. Offer them something new even if you know they won’t eat it. Don’t talk about what you don’t like or things you think are gross and if you do, have a conversation about different palates for different people. Don’t pass on your disordered eating or eating disorders to your kids. “Kid food” doesn’t exist, that’s a consumerism trap. If your kid is really picky they will grow out if it, I promise, and if they don’t or you’re afraid they truly aren’t getting the nutrition they need, seek the advice of a medical professional and get curious about sensory issues and neurodivergent behaviors. Don’t demonize food groups and don’t assign moral value to food. Food is food- some of it is Growing Food re: more nutrient dense and some of it is more fun and offers bursts of energy rather than the sustaining kind. Have conversations about different bodies and those with disabilities- careful of your language and even your intentions. Check yourself if you are having these discussions through a pity or savior’s lens. Watch your mouth and how you speak about your body, your skin, your hair, your teeth, in front of kids, including you. Yes, you. The language we use matters in all context. The words you use cast spells that can be hard to undo. Approach bodies with neutrality. Have conversations about the way media shames most bodies that aren’t the Eurocentric standard when watching movies or listening to music. Serve everything at once- meaning if there is a “dessert” it should be served alongside whatever is for dinner because food is food. Yes, all of this matters even to newborns. We’ve got to start somewhere.

Yes, your kid is going to sleep in their own bed that they have gotten into by themselves without you rocking or bouncing or patting or swaying or shushing or reading or singing. Yes, even if they’re still in your bed now. Yes, even if you still have to sneak out once they have fallen asleep. I promise they won’t be 40 and in need of a night-nurse or for you to sing You are my Sunshine and yet, wouldn’t that be so cool?

I know you’re tired. I know you miss what your bed and bedroom used to symbolize. I know how touched out you are and yet starved for touch. I know you dream of the days when the only hands in your hair are those of a lover(s) or your partner. I know you can still see the person that didn’t smell like graham crackers and kid sweat. I know how torn you are with wanting your autonomy back but never wanting to go back to the way things were before.

I promise you’ll find your way back to them and that place. That it will look different but it’ll be yours.

Hang on.

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For all of us, parents and kids alike,

Observe

• humans need a lot of the same things- safety, food, shelter, clean water etc but we all have different needs. Get curious about what your kid needs. Do they process internally or externally and how can you best support them in that? Do they require a lot of physical touch or do they prefer their own personal space? Either way, honor that. We all just want to be seen.

• kids are weird as hell and generally a weird and silly kid is a safe kid. When they want to show you a dance or a made up song or a drawing they made of a chicken on a rocket consider what your face and body are doing. If your first reaction is to scoff or raise an eyebrow a la “I think whatever you’re showing me is weird/dumb/senseless etc” think of the impact vs intention. Children are literal- let them be weird and be grateful for the times they want to share their weird with you.

Listen

• familiarize yourself with asking kids questions that are more direct and meaty. Instead of “how was your day” try asking them more specific questions such as “what was your favorite part of your day?”, “who did you hang out with”, or “what was the best thing you learned today.” It leaves the door open much wider for more response than just “fine.”

• let your kids feel it all. If they’re pissed or sad or frustrated or overwhelmed let them feel it and tell you why when they’re ready. Don’t slip into your initial reaction to shush or stop the thing from happening. Have some guard-rails IE “if you need to hit here is a pillow.”

• don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to. Be okay with letting your kids down or making them angry. Consider that most external anger we see is a side effect of a larger issue IE sadness or feeling like they’re not in control.

• ask kids what they need. As parents it is our responsibility to know for the most part what our kids need; are they lashing out because they’re hungry? Are they disagreeable because they’re tired? However, getting into the habit of getting them to check in with themselves builds a foundation for confident and emotionally regulated people. So much of a child’s day is dictated by what other people say they should want or what they should be doing. Encourage your kids to check in with themselves and when they tell you, listen.

• don’t listen to what capitalism has taught you about overriding your needs, powering through, boot-strapping or any other variation. Teach your kid the importance of rest in all context. Teach them about seasons and cycles and even the moon. Don’t let consumerism trick you into thinking high-holiday season was meant to be stacked schedules and never ending outings, to-do lists, shopping trips, and starting over at the beginning of the year. Fall is release and quieting. Winter is inwards and solace. If your kids are Grade A Shitbags from September-December it makes sense because you most likely are as well since we have been tricked into thinking that we have to be it all and have it all and do it all in order to be right. There are too many things on the schedule, no time for real rest and relaxation and therefore connection, everyone’s schedules are fucked which is hard for a lot of people, especially children. They’re sleeping less, doing more, their sense of routine is uprooted which leads to feeling a lack of consistency which feels like a threat to safety. We are pushing harder than we have all year while our bodies’ natural rhythm is one of stillness and dark. I’m not suggesting you don’t participate in anything this time of year- hell, this is my favorite time of year. But may I encourage you to slow it down, build in half-days (year round) of No Plans. For example: our four year old still needs to nap. Sure, it isn’t a year ago when naps were nonnegotiable but the kid still needs to nap. As often and as intentional as humanely possible, we bake in half-days of each weekend day to be No Plans. If we know we’re carving pumpkins with friends after nap that means the morning is slow and spent outdoors as much as possible. If we are getting up early to go to the museum and the playground before coming home for lunch and nap we know that the rest of the day will be spent at home tending to both our bodies and chores and sometimes just our bodies. Are there exceptions? Always. Do we always get it right? No. It must be said that this specific offering is suggested from a person that is more resourced and has the most access to security and basic needs than ever before. I am well supported and I have also been the mother with no other option but to do and to push and I am also able to reflect on the times it was self-inflicted. I have had no other choice but to stack days with too many things and I have done so out of my own selfishness and sometimes still do. And for the mothers and parents that desperately wish for and understand the importance of rest yet do not have consistent access to either- I fucking see you. I am you. We do way too much in general and some of us are lucky enough to have realized this as adults. By following the seasons and natural rhythms of the human body, we do ourselves a service. Quit trying to become a new version of yourself on January 1st. We are soft creatures. Treat our kids and ourselves as such.

Do

• find whatever your version of play is. Instead of kicking my shit in over the fact that I’m not a Figurine Player or Baby Doll player, I play with my kids through parallel play, cooking with them, creating magic through meals and experiences, and trying new things- anything from places to foods. Maybe my play-language isn’t getting down on the floor with Spiderman but it exists in places and spaces that feel good to me which makes them more authentic and kids can feel that. Find out what your play-language is and be okay with that.

• spend 10 minutes actively engaging your kid every day. 10 minutes of completely undistracted time doing the thing that you know is their flavor. For our 4 year old this looks like sitting on the couch with him, a lot of physical touch, sometimes talking about both of our days, but typically he just needs to let his brain and body rest and for him that is watching a little bit of a movie while he eats and is still. With our 8 year old this looks like drawing or coloring with her or watching her latest choreographed dance with genuine enthusiasm even if I’m dying of laughter on the inside. Do the same with yourself. Do the same with your partner if you have one.

• go outside. Every day.

• have a routine, not to be confused with a schedule.

recognize your own triggers. I have a really hard time with being screamed at and have the capacity to scream back which I hate. Being interrupted, even by our kids, is really frustrating to me especially as a person with ADHD. I struggle with becoming touched out and feeling like I don’t have agency over my body. All of these things can easily manifest as anger when really I am overwhelmed. In recognizing my triggers I can at least have the necessary information in order to ask for what I need-

"I’m sorry you’re having a hard time right now and I want to listen to you but I need to leave the room while you’re screaming.”

“I know how much you need me to hold you right now and I’m having a hard time being touched right now. I can hold your hand or I can set a timer for X minutes before I’m able to hold you again.”

“I feel frustrated when you interrupt me and it’s hard for me to remember what I was saying. What you have to say is important to me and I would like to take turns.”

Tend to yourself so that you can tend to others.

• apologize. All the time, whenever you get it wrong. We teach by doing.

• talk about the lives and experiences of those that are different from you. People need LGBTQIA2+ history. They need the real story of Thanksgiving, of capitalism, of colonizing and colonialism. Don’t get in the habit of only teaching what is in front of you and again- be cautious and mindful of the language you use. Discussing unhoused neighbors shouldn’t devolve into trauma porn, nor should it lead to a savior complex.

• stay soft

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I hope this finds you when you need it most. I hope we can continue having conversations about getting back to basics, how to push against and undo capitalism despite existing under its thumb. I hope we can become embodied, stay embodied, and show others how it’s done. I hope the next generation is softer and more curious yet. I hope you ask for what you need. I hope you’re safe.

My Me (a gender neutral, anti-diet, anti-capitalist, community-centered) guided journal for kids 8+ will be coming to you very soon- my goal is within the next 4 weeks tops. Inspired by none other than Moonie herself while recognizing the ways I reparent myself as I mother her and her brother.

Here’s to not having all the answers but staying committed to doing it softer.

Biggest love,

AR