A big, fat fail

I never expected to be a perfect parent. I know I’ll make mistakes, but I hope I learn from them and learn not to make the same ones again. I accept that. But this is the first time I feel like a failure as a mother. It bothers me. A lot.

I’m the shy, introverted type. I’m not outgoing at all. I don’t initiate conversations easily if at all, and I certainly have no talent at extending conversations. My dearest hope is that whomever I’m with is a talker and never leaves more than a two second interval in which to take a breath before they’re off again. Then I can sit back and listen, chime in here and there with a word or two, and be content that I won’t be required to add much to the conversation.

I’ve been this way my whole life. It’s why school was a challenge – making friends was and is a challenge. I’ve always wished it were otherwise – I envy those who make conversation effortlessly, who exude confidence in every situation, who aren’t afraid to be heard or seen. It would make life just a little easier.

I believe Kathleen is not as timid as I am. It’s hard to tell at this age when they’re faced with stranger anxiety, but I believe she’s a more confident and outgoing personality. I’m thankful for that because I have always, always hoped and prayed that my children would be spared this timidity. I want them – I want Kathleen – to have an easier, more comfortable life than I’ve had. I want her to feel more comfortable in her own skin without the constant effort that I need to make nearly every day of my life.

Even so, my shyness has impacted her anyway in a way that I hadn’t foreseen. I came face to face with it yesterday, when we were playing outside. Kathleen wanted to play with two neighbor children. She walked over to where they were, taking her time, gathering her courage. But when we finally reached them, Conner and his dad had gone to check out the tree house construction in a neighbor's yard while Kaitlyn and her mom were heading in for a snack. After a couple of minutes, they all congregated in Kaitlyn's back yard while remained playing in the cul de sac, alone. Kathleen saw Conner running back there. She wanted to join him, but I held her back. I didn’t want to intrude. We weren't explicitly invited. I think we’d have been welcome, but I didn’t want to force ourselves on them.

I felt like a horrible mother. Here is my daughter wanting to play with other kids in the neighborhood, and I haven’t the courage to speak up for her. I’m too busy being afraid that our presence isn’t wanted. Why can’t I be braver her for her sake? I failed her. She has no idea that I did, but know it. And I feel terrible about it. I failed my daughter.

All I can do is move on from here. When we see them out while we’re playing, I need to encourage Kathleen to join in, preferably before they disappear into someone’s backyard. And I need to start becoming involved in conversation rather than lurking on the outside wishing they’d invite me in. I need to take initiative if only for her sake. She deserves it. She won’t be deprived of neighborhood friends because her mom is a wimp. I can’t let that happen.

You know, it feels just like high school: always on the outside looking in. The only difference is that this is my daughter's life. She depends on me to do something about it.