Humility meets parenthood
When I was in high school, I collected what I thought were cool objects to make my room feel eclectic and bohemian. One of the items that added to the vibe, so to speak, was a worn book with a custom leather cover. It was my mom’s AA book she had for many years. Like my Bibles, it was weathered and full of notes in the margins. I loved her Big Book and thought it looked so cool and edgy. In the margins she had cool phrases like “alcohol saved my ass, and then kicked it.” My mom—the children’s preschool ministry director—had this cool old book with swear words in it! How captivating! But more than the swear words, I was always struck by the raw honesty of her notes in the margins. One of my favorites, and the most memorable, was “Humility is knowing who you are and what you are.”
Humility has been and will always be an important concept in my life. It’s not self-deprecation, nor is it arrogance. Humility is a right-sized view of ourselves; it’s the ability to accurately know who we are and what we are.
This week I find myself struggling with humility, as my cute little toddler’s existence is testing my limits. Now, those of you who know me know that being a mom is my favorite role in life. I love it. It is also exhausting. Over the last two weeks my little guy Beckham has been growing and developing, and as he grows he is acting out in ways I’m not used to. He is yelling “No!” and randomly having meltdowns. Yes, he’s always ebbed and flowed in his behavior, yet the last two weeks have felt abnormally hard.
Today I called my dad after dropping off Beckham with my mom (an expert in children’s behavior) and told him, “I know I need to ask for parenting advice, but I’m so nervous about hearing what I am doing wrong.” He laughed, “Everyone has to learn. It’s all about humility.”
Practicing humility—having a right-sized view of myself—is challenging as a parent. I find myself tempted by two different narratives. The first sounds like this: “I’m such a bad mom. My kid is out of control. I’m embarrassed.” This view has me anxious to receive feedback, as I feel like I am not good enough and need to be better. In this narrative, I am self-deprecating and idolizing everyone else as a better parent than me. I feel alone in my parenting. On the other end of the spectrum, the second tempting narrative says, “I’m a great mom. I’m just tired, people are just sensitive, and Beckham just needs to eat or sleep more.” Now while these individual statements might be true, the posture they support is one that is closed off to change or is even defensive. I don’t want to hear feedback. I just want to be seen as the best, most perfect mom.
In this situation, humility is being honest about both my limits and my strengths. I am a great mom and I am also limited. Humility here is being honest about how hard I try to understand my son and parent him well; it’s also being honest that I am not an expert on two-year-olds. I have more to learn. In fact I will always be in the process of learning and becoming. With this shift in posture, humility invites me to be confident but also open to and grateful for other people’s feedback and wisdom.
This might seem obvious and simple to some readers. I guess it seems pretty straightforward on the surface: just have a both/and view! And yet—when my little one has a big meltdown after a day when I gave it my all, you could say I sometimes lose my capacity for both/and thinking. When that capacity goes, so does my humility, my right-sized view of myself.
The Bible often mentions humility as an admirable virtue, one we ought to cultivate. I truly believe that the way of Jesus is one anchored in humility, a right-sized humility that contributes to healthy intrapersonal and interpersonal relationships. Humility is inescapably a part of our spirituality. Where in your life are you finding humility to be a challenge? What narrative are you tempted to believe that is working against cultivating humility?
