Tag Archives: leaving the nest

Letting them fly

All fledglings must at some point leave the nest. My son was telling me this morning that when it is time for bear cubs to go it alone, the mother bear chases them up a tree and then abandons them. He said he’s glad he isn’t a bear! For him, it’ll be a slower, more gentle process over the next eight years or so, but it is a process we have most definitely started. This week he’s away on a residential thing with the school, having adventures. By slow degrees, he will learn to leave the nest and fend for himself. My definition of being a successful parent is that I will get him to the point where he doesn’t really need me anymore.

There is a lot of similarity between teaching and parenting in this regard. Getting it right means getting them to the point where you wave them goodbye and watch them strike out into the world. Students and offspring alike must not be under your sheltering wing forever. The trouble is, keeping them there can be really tempting. It is very human to want to be wanted, to need to be needed. And so we can easily hang on to children, and students because we like the comfort of them being there and needing us. It can tempt us to hold back a few things, to not tell them everything, so that they still need us for a few bits and pieces. It’s not the right way to go.

In many ways students are easier, because they are more readily replaced. Most of us, on waving the newly adult offspring goodbye, are not going to go and create a whole new person to replace them with. Some of us will get a puppy instead. Students tend not to be around for so long in the first place – perhaps a few years. That makes the letting go easier, and if you’re any good as a teacher, the next one will turn up soon enough.

It can be tempting, with students, to take them on when they aren’t right for us, or to try and keep them once we find that we aren’t the teacher they need. Saying ‘there isn’t anything I can usefully teach you’ is hard. Having a whole flock of students feels like kudos, feeds the ego, helps us feel important and worthwhile. Pushing just one away feels like admitting defeat, or being a failure. It isn’t. Failure is keeping them when you can do them no good.

Of course once you’ve got a child, you’ve got a child and this is a very different scenario most of the time. It’s much less usual for a person to have to consider that they cannot parent the child they have in the best way. But it does happen. Seriously physically disabled children, or ones with profound learning difficulties can be more than it is feasible for a parent to manage. Sometimes what you need are professionals who do not have to manage things 24/7. I can’t begin to imagine how hard and painful a decision that must be to make though. There are the parents who fail so badly that social services intervene and tell them they can have no role in the child’s future. There are also the parents whose offspring reject them. That can happen at any stage in life, and as they get older, if we have messed up, they are more likely to flee from us.

What of the parent who tries to hang on to the child they are unable to properly take care of? We may feel every sympathy for them, may pity their problems, recognise their grief, but it’s not enough. Regardless of the age of the child, no amount of thinking you love them justifies trying to hang on to them when they really need to be somewhere else. It’s far easier to recognise when you aren’t the right teacher for the job than I imagine it must be to recognise that you aren’t the right parent for the job.

Getting trained as a teacher isn’t difficult, but how many of us are trained as parents, or know where to go for help when we can’t manage the workload? It’s one of those issues where I can see the problems all too clearly, and the solutions seem hard to imagine in the context of the kind of society we have.


Leaving the Nest

Whether you jump voluntarily, or are pushed, the moment of leaving a safe space to strike out alone, is a bit scary. Nothing wrong with that. Apprehension and fear are entirely natural responses to uncertainty.

Flap the wings frantically, jump, not knowing how to fly. See if you soar, or plummet.

If you don’t leave the nest, soaring is never going to be an option. But of course neither is plummeting to your doom. Is it necessary to jump? Is there anything wrong with choosing safety and security, the comfort of the familiar? All of us spend most of our time doing just that. And once we’ve jumped into an unfamiliar thing, we set about turning it into something safe and known. We might only choose to ever jump a few times, or we might spend our lives hurling ourselves off things, testing limits, seeing what will actually make us hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

We make the nests out of familiarity. We build things we can rely on, trust in. Things that insulate us and keep us feeling like we know what’s going on. Sometimes that turns out to be illusion. Little birds who choose to stay in nests are sometimes eaten. The process of leaving the nest is an act of abandoning certainty in search of adventure, but it can also be self preservation. What seems secure now might become a trap in time. Like a nestling on an arctic ledge, if we stay too long, our safe place may be iced over and we will die. Sometimes it’s a matter of knowing when jumping is the safest option.

Regardless of the outcome, there’s always that glorious moment of freefall when it all seems possible – you could crash, you could conquer the sky, all of it can be yours. Possibility resolves into actuality, we hit the ground, or we don’t. We decide whether or not to do it all again.

For some people, the thrill of uncertainty is everything – the rush of a new job or new relationship more rewarding than continuity or permanence. For others, being forced out of the nest is hellish, and they will build the next one as soon as possible.

For preference I need both. Periods of calm and safety, periods of wild crazy flapping, the occasional hope that I might indeed fly this time. I have a suspicion this might be quite normal.

Today I have jumped out of a nest. Druid Life used to be a column over at www.thepaganandthepen.wordpress.com – a blog featuring the writing of a number of Pagans from various traditions. I’d been there a while, growing the column, getting some readership. It offered me a degree of safety, the sense of being held, but like all nests, it limited where I could go and what I could do.

Time to test the wings, and see if Druid Life can fly on its own, or whether I have just jumped out into a place of silence in a land devoid of readers…