“We do the best we can with what we know at the time,” said my friend.
We have known one another for a long time and were talking about shared memories of when our daughters were young. I reflected on how my own formative experiences showed up in the ways I parented my daughters, who are now adults. I expressed regret over some of my parenting strategies and a winsome wish that I had known then what I know now.
I often think about that young woman who, all those years ago, was trying to be the “best mom she could be.” I remember the times when she failed. In recent years, I have been able to observe how old personal wounds and pain often turned outward, placing undeserved pressure on my daughters in ways that had nothing to do with them. I learned that “being the best mom she could be” often meant offering her girls the kind of love and boundaries she had wished for rather than the kind of love and boundaries they needed. It was what I knew at the time.
In the years before my own mom died, she acknowledged behaviors that she thought may have hurt me in childhood. At the time, I received her regrets with grace but didn’t think much about it. Now, as I examine my own regrets, I recognize what my mom was acknowledging. She was confessing her own shortcomings while parenting me as a baby, a toddler, a young child—way before the teenage years that I remembered during her confession. She was acknowledging that she hadn’t always been able to meet the needs of that baby, or that toddler, or that young girl in the ways that little one—that I—needed at that specific time. She was telling me how deeply sorry she was for that. She was telling me that she hoped her best effort was enough.
My own mom had been so young when she had us. She had her first baby at age 21. She had been inexperienced, dealing with her own lack of resources and doing the best she knew how with what she had to give at the time. She was in deep grief over the early, unexpected death of her own mother just five years before.
Holding her story in one hand and her sincere regret in the other has allowed my mom to become three-dimensional all these years after her death.
With great love, acknowledgment, and empathy, I can now see her as the mom she wanted to be both on the day of her confession years ago and in the years prior to it. I can honor who she was as my mom. I can honor who she wanted to be as my mom. And I can honor all I have learned about myself in between those two moms.
A while ago, while revisiting my own regrets with my daughter, she said a similar thing to me as my friend, “You did the best you knew how to do, Mom.” I heard acknowledgment and forgiveness in her words and saw compassion and empathy in her eyes. She’s wiser and more aware than I was at her age, already working through the things I waited decades to do. Decades from now, when she thinks back, I pray that she will hold her own story as beautifully and with as much honor as she holds the stories of her mother and grandmother.
We do the best we can with what we know at the time. All of life is grace.
Grace meeting the “best we can” has been a theme for me as a contributor for Red Tent Living. It took all the courage I had to click “send” that first time, putting a tender story of life following my divorce into the world. Since then, I have learned so much from you, dear Red Tent Living community. Grace has done this. Grace received as you held my stories. Grace received from the wisdom and encouragement shared in your own stories and comments. Grace from the leadership team and our gifted editors who make each story infinitely better. Each of you have buoyed confidence, healing, and capacity for growth as a writer, a creator, a woman, mom, daughter, sister, grandmother, friend, mentor, and lover of this beautiful, complicated world. It has been an honor to be in this season of life and history with you all. May you live each day believing you are doing the best you can with what you know now. May you keep desiring to learn more, and may you find more spaces like this one to expand your beautiful presence in the world. All of life is grace.
Jill English is an avid encourager of people and a lover of words. She is most at home out-of-doors, especially if the out-of-doors involves a beach. Her most magical moments happen as ‘Mimi’ while spending time with her well-loved grandchildren and her adult kids. Jill spends her workdays helping others discern vocational call through theological education. Her favorite conversations involve connecting the sacred dots of everyday life and faith. Jill lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, with two small, elderly pups.
I understand this completely. I was often short-tempered, foolish, and misguided. I regret my failings and just hope my kids know I loved them.
Oh this resonates!
“With great love, acknowledgment, and empathy, I can now see her as the mom she wanted to be both on the day of her confession years ago and in the years prior to it. I can honor who she was as my mom. I can honor who she wanted to be as my mom. And I can honor all I have learned about myself in between those two moms.”
Thank you for this, Jill, and for all you have courageously offered to us over the years! I have been invited into deeper waters and enriched because of you.
Thank you, Jill. I have appreciated your posts over the years. I have found God’s Grace in all your writing. All blessings to you.
Its beautiful how you can not only acknowledge your shortcomings but also take accountability for the way in which you loved your children according to how you had wanted to be loved as a child. Not many parents can self introspect like that. Thank you for sharing
Motherhood is grace. Mothering is grace. Giving grace to our mothers and to ourselves as mothers invites an abundance of grace. You’ve captured every layer so beautifully, as you always do, Jill. Thanks be to God for how you’ve enriched our lives with stories from your own.
Thank you Jill for all you have offered in this space. You have inspired us, taught us with such grace, and wrapped us in warmth and kindness again and again. So deeply grateful.
Jill, without fail, your writing provides a depth of wisdom that shows me how to live vulnerably, courageously, and honestly. This story is no exception. I am deeply moved by your mother’s confession to you as well as your conversation with your own daughter. Such bravery on behalf of all three women to truthfully risk and engage one another with the hope of forgiveness and repair. I am grateful for the many stories you have shared here in the Red Tent–thank you!