Unsolicited advice goes both ways

“I will no longer be taking unsolicited advice from people that haven’t walked a day in my shoes.”

This was the declaration I made to my own Dad just a few months ago. (read blog here) I felt very sovereign at the time. Next minute… I found myself doing exactly that - to my daughter.

She had just finished high school and was navigating a huge life change: no longer seeing her friends every day, needing to get a job, and living back at home with Mum or Dad, depending on the month. (She’s been at boarding school for 3 years - an expensive but incredible experience I’m so proud we were able to provide).

It was a big transition for her - and it turns out, for me too.

For 18 years, I’ve been needed. Relevant in a way I’d taken for granted. And yes, I’ll always be her Mumma, but the boundaries have shifted – evolved, I guess - before I was ready for them to. She has a car, a licence, a job, her own life, friends, plans and a fierce independence. I wonder where she gets that from??!

So, what was left for me to do? Of course, I handled the letting go beautifully… like being dragged through a hedge backwards by my feet while wearing stained white skinny jeans I thought were still in fashion.

I resisted. I stamped my feet. I yelled. I tried (lovingly) to bribe her.

And I sent some text messages. Okay, several text messages. Without a response.

Aaarghh. I know. I can feel the disapproval of my rational sovereign self. But she was nowhere to be found - packed up with my youthful, toned body, and left the building.

After a sleepless night, some reflection, and a very grounded conversation with my daughter’s dad (who’d already arrived at the emotional maturity I was avoiding), he offered his hand to help me climb out of my self-pity. Thank you.

I realised the rules had changed - and that while I’m no longer needed in the same way, I’ve actually been given a gift.

I have a beautiful daughter (two, actually - and one still needs me in that teenage way). She’s strong, independent, wide-eyed and deeply curious about the world – just like I remember being. She doesn’t need me to tell her what to do anymore. But she does need me to be her Mum. To support her decisions, even if I don’t agree. To catch her If and when she falls.

This is my privilege.

So, I sent her a message. An apology. A truth. I asked for her patience while I figure this new role out - because this is my first rodeo, and she’s very important in my world.

She called me. She apologised too. I cried. We’re good. Actually, we’re amazing.

Now, I’m learning what it means to be a mum to a self-sufficient adult. To rediscover who I am without that all-consuming identity. What makes me tick? What do I love? What’s my worth outside the role of mother?

It’s a journey - not a straight line - and I’m sure I’ll trip again (hopefully not in those stained white jeans). I’m learning this lesson now, so I can apply it for the benefit of both my children, helping them step into their independence while I step into mine. But I’m on a mission to work out who Nat is, beyond motherhood.

She’s never really had permission to be selfish… so maybe I’ll try a little of that for a while, and see what rises.

Are you feeling a similar transition - or resisting it?!
The Company of Her exists to help women like you (and me) rediscover our light and shine with brilliant intensity. If you feel called, I’d love to hold space for you.

With love and goddess light
Nat 🤍