Helicopter Mom Confessions

Do you ever stumble into a perfect metaphor for your parenting in the middle of an ordinary day?

I gripped the handlebar and back seat of my son’s bike, walk/running beside him. He wobbled up the hill, thrown off balance as he aggressively swatted my hand away. It seemed to me, in the moment, that I was being helpful. Really I was limiting his chance to strengthen his muscles on these steep hills. I am lucky some well-meaning passerby didn’t try to intervene on his behalf.  

Of course, Caleb has no impulse control and is a flight risk, so I have to hold on to some extent. I have to be honest, though, I need to find that middle ground. My need to micromanage has trickled all the way down to bike riding. Oh, and it still has training wheels on it…and he is six.

Every year of my 12-year teaching career I taught a unit about butterflies. The mystery of metamorphosis began with a box and 2 small cups with air holes that arrived by mail. The kids would gather around as we unhitched the pop-up butterfly habitat and placed the clear cups at the bottom. Each day they would draw and record the slow progression of the tiny larvae becoming full-grown caterpillars. Then, finally, we would see them spin that button of silk to attach to the paper filter on the cup. They curled themselves into a “J” and molted to reveal the chrysalis. Inside, they would digest their bodies into a pulp that would form the butterfly. We would know the metamorphosis was complete once the chrysalis started shaking. That part of the process was always a bit disconcerting. Sometimes the kids would express a desire to “help” at this stage. The butterfly they had grown so attached to was struggling and it was hard to watch. I had to tell them that if they interrupted the process and tried to pull the butterfly out, it wouldn’t have the opportunity to gain the muscle strength it needs to fly…and it would die.

Michael Bungay Stanier, in his book The Coaching Habit, describes the implications in the workplace of this compulsion to “swoop in” and “help” (take over). “Then everyone—you, the person you’re ‘helping,’ the organization—pays a price for your attempted helpfulness. Your good intentions often end up contributing to a relentless cycle of exhaustion, frustration and, ironically, reduced impact.” (pg. 135).

He goes on to summarize Edgar Schein from his book Helping—”when you offer to help someone, you ‘one up’ yourself: you raise your status and you lower hers, whether you mean to or not.” (pg.135).

Ooof that is convicting. I am a visual learner, so as I digest these heavy sentences I imagine my “helpful” self like a crazed cowgirl with a hot iron trying to put my stamp on everything. 

It has to end. If I continue this behavior long enough, the soil beneath my feet in whatever relationship this instinct runs wild—personal or professional—will become dead. My actions leave no room for growth or strengthening of friendships, offspring, or new leadership. The systems will die from collective mental atrophy.

That scary place…that humble servant place where you feel you will be eclipsed by others and disappear? Jesus went there. He stooped to wash his disciples feet. He lowered himself and prepared them to do the same. He modeled the counterintuitive and called it the path toward righteousness. He never “helps.” He is always teaching, evidenced by His reaction in several situations where His disciples demonstrated failure to launch. 

Matthew 8:23-27 

D: Look at those waves! We are all going to die!

J: “You of little faith, why are you so afraid?”

Matthew 14:22-34 

D: It’s a ghost! (Nope, it is Jesus.)

Peter: (Walks on water, gets scared of the wind) “Lord, save me!”

J: (Again) “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

So, where is my faith?

Jesus did not come to flaunt His perfection. He used it to stoop down, lift us up, and train us to repeat the process over and over. When we sign up to follow him, it is not an easy path and there are no laurels to rest on. The world’s way of measuring success is a distraction. We will face difficult circumstances. We will work with difficult people. We will see suffering and pain. We will struggle. He is not about ease, comfort, power. He is about strengthening our muscles, preparing us for transformation.

Lord, help me follow in Your footsteps. You, the Sovereign Creator of the Universe, sent his only Son as a baby, the perfect example of releasing control. You give us the freedom to make our own choices…to choose to go to You. Give me the faith to let go and raise a son that doesn’t need me. At work, instead of digging people out and taking over, help me encourage them to be independent. Help me live in a posture of serving and training my replacement. If You can release control of Your Son, certainly, with Your help, this imperfect mother can. Amen.