ArcaMax

It's pressure, a bit, to think of being so instrumental in someone's becoming, but despite my anxieties, I know my children could do worse for a mother.

After all, I understand my job: to simultaneously hold them close and yet also to push them away, just a touch, a millimeter more each day. I have to let them struggle, and no matter how much I want to, I cannot always interfere. I cannot wrap them up inside me anymore. They'll face much in the world, fully apart from me, and they must feel up to the task.

With boys, it's challenging to find the equilibrium, the perfect balance between closeness and distance. The world tells boys that men should not need anyone, especially their mothers, but we all know that's a lie. Boys need closeness as much as girls do, even when they pretend to want distance. But a mother must also find the natural space between her and her son. There is a place that needs to be empty so he can grow into it, a hollowness that he sees I am confident he can fill.

It stings, sometimes, to be reminded that every day I'm closer to being fired from my job. I'm propping him up, but one day he'll stand on his own.

When our children are babies, we try hard to get them to walk to us. We hold out our arms and encourage them to let go. We tell them with our words and our eyes that they can take steps, they can propel themselves forward, resting only on their own two feet.

As they age, we must pull back, farther and farther, and let them step even more into the void.

"How strong is a black hole?" my son wonders to me. "Is it stronger than a nuclear bomb, stronger than a rocket?"

He's fascinated by and scared of black holes, of the uncertain space inside them.

We're all afraid, as children, of going out, of separating. In growing up, there's sadness. There's grief. It's the trauma we all suffer.

But, as with all transformations, there is thrill. There is joy.

There is becoming.

To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.

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