We fear failing in our jobs. We fear failing in our relationships—saying the wrong thing, sending the wrong message, or losing those we care about. We fear loneliness, but fear to fail at finding someone who might care about us. We fear failing to do the right thing at the time. We fear failing because of our natural weaknesses.
Parents have a fear of failing their children. We fear not measuring up, or doing enough, or being enough. We fear that our mistakes will cost them in some way, or that our negative qualities will reflect back at us in these younger versions of ourselves. We fear messing up their futures. We fear the hurtful words of family or strangers who comment on our failures.
The truth is, everyone will fail over and over. Perfection is not achievable. We’re mortal and we’re limited, unable to remember enough at once, do enough, or be enough of what we believe we should be doing and being. But the pressures are still there, from those around us and from ourselves.
Enter . . . children.
Children can be difficult, especially young children, which I currently have. They can be draining, frustrating, maddening. They lack a lot of reasoning skills and the ability to deal with their big emotions. They can freak out when you don’t open their granola bar in just the right way.
But children are something special. They’re not just super cute, or snuggly, quick learners, or really imaginative. They’re also remarkable at loving and forgiving. You give them love, and they reward you with forgiveness when you mess up. The rest of the world might be judging you, and making sure you know that you failed, but your child will love you and they’ll let you know it too.
There are days when I struggle to manage my emotions any better than they. Sometimes I rage. I flip out and yell. Then the tears come, and my children--who seconds ago were stressed, confused, unhappy--are instantly at my side, rubbing and patting my back, giving me hugs and telling me it’ll be okay. They forget that I yelled; they forget my angry words. And on those days when we have a big fight, we come back to each other and say we’re sorry. Our nighttimes are still filled with hugs and love and laughter.
A loved child is an instant forgiver. They don’t put pressure on us. They don’t ask us to make sure they grow up to be the smartest, fastest, most talented human ever. They don’t ask us for perfection. They just want love, even when they themselves fail—especially then. And there’s no one better to learn how to love and forgive from, than them.
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