Good Enough

www.flickr.com/photos/multnomah

When I was eight years old, I started taking piano lessons from the same woman that had instructed my sister, four years my senior. My sister is a very gifted musician. At twelve years old, she demonstrated noticeable and noteworthy talent. It was obviously a gift–music would always be a part of her future. For me, it was more of a skill to be learned. I was an adequate student, no better or worse than the typical eight-year-old, but my well-intentioned teacher could not help but compare me to my older sister, and her standard of approval for my efforts was much too high. I will never forget the afternoon she looked at me with exasperation, placed her fingers over her eyes and said, “Do you actually manage to get good grades in school?”

I will also never forget the resolute look on my mother’s face when she told me that I never had to go back to piano lessons again. She was my champion, you see, a mother who understood the fragility of my budding self-esteem. She didn’t want me in any situation that would make me feel less valuable because I wasn’t like my sister.

She really was my champion. When my love for horses became so overwhelming that I nearly cried myself to sleep with longing, my mother simply shrugged her shoulders, made a few phone calls, and signed me up for horseback riding lessons. When I wanted to play the oboe in middle school, she found me an instrument and an instructor. When I started high school and wanted to give up band so that I had more time for theater, journalism and swim team, she supported me in every endeavor. When A’s were made, she cheered. When that ever present B in Math repeated itself every single term, she shrugged. “You did your best,” she’d say, because she knew that I had done my best.

The greatest gift my mother ever gave me was the assurance that she loved me just the way I was. No matter what, I was good enough. I never felt any pressure to be as musical, as smart, as anything as any of my siblings. What I was good at was good enough. Comparisons between my sister and I were inevitably made–we went to the same high school, had many of the same teachers, and looked a good deal alike. I frequently heard the line, “Well, I know who YOUR sister is…” Without a doubt, I know the reason I was able to consider this a compliment rather than an indication of my sister’s ever present “shadow”, is because of the effort my mom made to value and support my individuality.

And so shall it be with my own children. They are so very different. They are smart in different ways, excel in different areas, and have such different interests. I hope that I can be their champion, that I can encourage and support all the different paths they may choose to take. It often seems in this day and age, with all the challenges young people face, that self-esteem is hard to come by. I’m determined to make my home a place where my kids feel celebrated; a place where they know they can be their very best self, and it will always be good enough. If they want to hike, sing, dance, act, play, swim, run, ride, snorkel, yodel…I’m in.

QUESTION: What person from your own childhood helped you to feel that you were “good enough”, and how did they do that?

CHALLENGE: Find a way to show your own children that you accept and support them, in both their challenges as well as their triumphs.  

Previous Comments (2)

About Jenny Proctor

Jenny Proctor was born in the mountains of Western North Carolina, a place she still resides and considers the loveliest on earth. She hikes to spend time with her husband and six children, runs because her love for food requires it, and writes because it keeps her calm in an otherwise crazy world. Jenny's first novel, The House at Rose Creek, was released in 2013.