Closing the Gap: Shari and Matt Discuss Parent-Young Adult Communication
When my middle son, Matt, was in preschool, he made the tile in the photo above as a Mother’s Day gift for me. Although the marker at the bottom has faded over 20 plus years, I have always cherished the words he had the teacher write: I love my mommy because … she always keeps me company.
His words were precious then, expressing an experience Matt and I shared, sitting together while he ate or played, keeping him company in his daily preschool life.
Although those early days raising three boys were difficult and demanding, I held each one (well, maybe not every one) dearly, recognizing the fragile and fleeting nature of the moments comprising those long days and short nights (Thanks, Zach!) I knew that one day I would no longer be able to keep my three sons company in their daily activities. I was aware that inevitably, the day would arrive when, in some form, each of them would say the words …
You’re Done
Age-Appropriate Boundaries
Matt was sitting across from me, perched on a stool at the island in the center of our kitchen. As usual, I had been moving around the kitchen, washing dishes, preparing snacks, wiping counters and putting things away. As my oldest son Zach would say, I was being a HouseMom. At the time, Matt was winding down his senior year in High School and excited to begin his journey at Vanderbilt University.
I don’t recall the specific content of the conversation which took place that day six years ago, but I must have been delivering a mini lecture about how to be responsible in some way. The reason I know that is because I vividly recall what happened next.
I noticed Matt shaking his head at me.
“What?” I asked him, innocently, not understanding what I had said or done to elicit his disapproval.
“You’re done,” he replied.
“I’m done? What does that mean?”
Before he was even able to respond, I noticed the truth and reality of what he was communicating slowly seeping into my awareness.
I realized that my middle son was marking this milestone transition in his life by setting a new boundary in our mother-son relationship. He was letting me know that my suggestions, recommendations and efforts to guide his behavior were no longer welcome. At least not in the same way they had been welcomed, or maybe tolerated, during the eighteen years that had led to this moment.
I felt my heart sink and my anxiety rise. Now what?
Matt’s feedback was direct and clear. It was up to me to decide whether I was going to respond defensively (e.g. “I’m not … I was just telling you because ….”) or be open to the possibility of a different style of interacting with him that was better suited to this developmental phase in his life and in our relationship.
A few years prior to that day in the kitchen, I had met a woman at a party who explained that she was in an interesting phase of her life, navigating a new style of communicating with her young adult daughter. Although I was still several years away from that phase at the time, I found the idea of changing the patterns of engaging with my children scary and intriguing. With the shake of Matt’s head and the shift in my awareness, I recognized that the time had come for me to adjust the way I interacted with my young adult sons.
Matt’s Perspective:
When I turned 13, I was a man according to Jewish beliefs. I was wise enough at that age to understand that it would make no difference in my independence levels, and I had no expectations that anything would change. For some reason, however, I believed that turning 18 would be different. While I never felt overly restricted or controlled by my parents, independence always sounded nice to me. As a child, I imagined that there was a clear, passable boundary between childhood and adulthood, and that at some age, maybe 18, I would earn a different level of respect, independence, etc. I turned 18 under the roof of my parents home, where I would remain until it was time to go off to college (another point I assumed would be accompanied with an immediate, distinct change in my independence levels). When my parents would tell me to be home by a certain hour in my last months of high school, my automatic response would be to claim adulthood, and express my agency. However, this did not fit with the perspective of my parents.
Leaving home for college gave me an entirely new sense of freedom and independence. I could return to my dorm whenever I wanted, leave without telling anyone where I was going, and procrastinate my assignments without being hounded by my father. This made the conflicts that made me respond with “you’re done” even more challenging, as I had acquired the taste for free will. When I was home from college, the minor inconveniences of telling my parents where I was at all times and still somehow being hounded by my father about my homework felt exponentially sillier.
While living under their roof, their (fair) philosophy was that I had increased autonomy relative to my younger self, and my younger brother, but still would be required to comply with my parents’ expectations. This instant transformation into being a fellow adult did not occur when I left for college, it did not occur when I lived at home during lockdown, and it has not occurred to this point. It has, however, evolved through communication, honesty, and time.
Through countless conversations with my parents and introspection that has taken place mostly at home (it all sort of leaves my mind when I am away), I feel more resolution to the conflict of being an adult and losing some autonomy while home. My identity as an adult feels opposite to my parent’s view of me as their child, but they coexist. I am an adult, and my parents raised me with respect, generosity, and when necessary, control. Now, at 24 and halfway through graduate school, it can feel a little bit annoying to give up some autonomy while home. At the same time, I am able to see things from my parents’ perspective. I am also mindful that 1) communication and relationships are based in habit, and this relationship was built through 18 years of them raising me; 2) I might be out of sight and (a little bit) out of mind while I am in Nashville or San Francisco, but vicinity matters; and 3) remembering that my parents’ actions come from a place of protection and love has made this dynamic substantially easier to navigate (even though it still is annoying sometimes).
The Snake
The Importance of Listening
My husband and I enjoy hiking in the mountains close to our home. Once in a while, one of our three sons is home for a visit and agrees to join us on a hike. I am always delighted when one of our boys is with us, even though they refuse to purchase or wear hiking boots, carry a water bottle or apply sunscreen adequately (Wait, are you sure I’m done? Because it seems like they may still need to hear some of my suggestions ….)
Anyway, we were hiking up through the rocks when another hiker, heading in the opposite direction, pointed out a black snake. My husband and I have seen several snakes on the NJ trails and are accustomed to walking around them calmly and quickly to continue along our path. We had planned to do the same on this occasion when Matt said, “Stop.”
“What’s up, Matt?”
“There’s a snake,” responded my then 23 year old son in his low, deep voice.
“We see, let’s go.”
“No. Stop.”
“Matt, come on, let’s go, it’s fine.”
Ignoring Matt’s plea, my husband and I took a few steps forward.
“No. I’m not going.”
Dismissing Matt’s concerns, my husband and I continued to climb.
Finally, Matt followed, expressing his anger and frustration with us. He asked what more he could have done to be heard at that moment. He could not understand how we could have heard his words and yet completely dismissed his position.
While I kept hiking, I was stopped dead in my mental and emotional tracks by Matt’s argument. It was a wake-up call for me, as I became aware that I had not been respectful of my son’s very clearly expressed wishes. I wondered, how often do I do this to him? To others?
Although it was difficult to tolerate Matt’s complaints and criticism as we continued our hike that day, I worked hard to hear the very valid point he was making. I was able to set aside his tone and hear the content of his assertions. He was right. My husband and I had completely ignored his concerns because they were getting in the way of our agenda for the afternoon. I knew that this type of behavior would not enhance the quality of my relationship with my sons. This was not how I wanted to parent and not how I wanted to live in the world.
I acknowledged to Matt that he was correct and that I had been disrespectful. I apologized for not listening to him. I spent time that afternoon thinking about the incident, curious about what had contributed to my choices and behavior. Later that evening, I decided to offer Matt some feedback that I thought might be helpful to him in his interpersonal relationships and as a future therapist. I told him that the quality of his voice (low, deep and somewhat monotone at times) made it a little easier to dismiss than other types of voices, which might be more inclined to grab and keep people’s attention. He appreciated my feedback, which was delivered in addition to, not instead of, my sincere apology. It was a partial explanation for my mistake rather than an excuse.
Matt’s Perspective:
Communication is complex. The content of spoken words is just a fraction of the way in which meaning is transmitted. It is challenging to communicate the context and importance of a message while balancing so many factors (body language, tone, volume, speed, and more). At that moment, the message I intended to deliver was: I am concerned about this snake. I do not like snakes. I do not want to keep walking towards one. I would like to stop and discuss/reevaluate this situation. What I said was, “Stop.” Skilled communication could have allowed me to be more clear and specific about what I was thinking and feeling at that particular moment, but as is often the case for all of us, my mind was elsewhere, overwhelmed by fear of continuing and frustrated at not being listened to.
In some circumstances, somebody saying “Stop” will be sufficient to get those around them to do so. In this particular family dynamic, however, there is so much complexity, history, and habit that contributes to the interpretation of the word. Sometimes, we are so comfortable with each other that we fail to actually listen, since we assume we can interpret the meaning of what we hear. That is just one example of a reason why communication can be tricky; there are countless others. At that moment, my goal of stopping could maybe have been achieved by raising the volume of my voice. This, however, is not a communication tactic that I like to use, and I believed my words should have done enough to express the meaning I intended. What more effectively did this, however, was expressing that I did not feel heard.
It is so easy to misinterpret somebody’s words, especially through text or other written communication that does not allow for those contextual factors of spoken word. What is harder is to tell somebody that you do not feel as though they are receiving what you are trying to say. A natural instinct is to keep repeating the same thing, but people often habituate to hearing the same phrase and can tune out when the speaker uses that strategy. I have found that really pausing conversations when I notice somebody is not understanding my communication, or I am perceiving that I may not understand theirs, is most helpful. This happens to me relatively often, sometimes because I speak monotonously, or am often sarcastic, or for many other possible reasons. Bringing attention to the gap in understanding, rather than continuing to try and focus on your side of the message by hammering away at that same point, can repair those differences in understanding. And when we are frustrated that someone is not hearing us, it becomes much harder to hear them, and the potential for escalation, hurt, and frustration is super high when nobody feels heard. All it takes to shift the pattern is for one person in the conversation to notice that it isn’t going well, pause the dialogue and bring the focus to the experience of misunderstanding, instead of the content itself.
Close the Gap
Communicating to connect
Matt graduated from college in 2021 and moved to California to pursue a doctoral degree in clinical psychology. There have been many times in recent years when I have stepped, or accidentally fallen, into a hole during my conversations with him. As was the case in our kitchen years ago, I only discover that I am in a hole when Matt lets me know. Fortunately, he is skillful at providing clear and direct feedback. These days, he tends to say, “We need to close the gap.”
Often, I am puzzled by his suggestion that there is a gap that needs closing. It doesn’t help when he reminds me that I am a mental health professional and should understand what I did wrong and what he means by closing the gap. Twenty-six plus years into parenting, I am still astounded by the multiplicity of blindspots that abound in the journey of raising children into adulthood.
To me, closing the gap between parent and young adult child requires highly attuned ears, an open heart and a willingness to be humble. Unfortunately, we have been conditioned to defend our positions and to insist that we are right, to protect our own hearts and to preserve our egos. All of that cultural programming and habitual patterning does not serve us well in our relationships with young adult children. I learn that the hard way every time my youngest son, Justin, and I get into our familiar argument loop.
From a personal and professional perspective, I believe that the most important thing we can do as parents is to truly listen to our children. Listening can be especially difficult when the child is speaking in a tone that feels disrespectful, curt, hostile or whiny. The most effective trick I have learned for when my sons speak to me in a way that hurts my heart or bruises my ego is to open my ears and the ears of my heart so that I can hear the message inside, no matter how unpleasant the method of delivery. When I am able to tend to my own vulnerable heart and set my ego aside, I consistently find that my boys, now young men, have much insight and wisdom to offer me. I am grateful to all three of my favorite sons for everything they have taught me and for everything I will continue to learn from them as we move from one phase of life to the next.
Matt’s Perspective:
Without active change from both parent and child, the dynamic of the relationship may remain stuck. This likely will lead to dynamics that are not as fitting for two adults even if they may have been suitable during the child’s younger years. This is the concept I am referring to as the gap. The idea is to build on top of those dynamics, and not to take away from the special nature of the parent-child bond. A parent can remain protective and caring of their children while also respecting their independence. The child can remain open and respectful as well, while navigating the natural ways in which this relationship changes over time.
I notice this large gap shows itself when my parents are asking my brothers and I questions. The function of the question is critical here, and while a parent may be intending to learn about their child’s life, the dynamics of the past may lead the child to revert to punishment-avoidance mode, and they may give defensive or untruthful responses. How can this relationship change from “you’re my child and I need to make sure you are being safe and smart” to “you’re an adult now and I trust you to make good decisions and I just want to hear about your independent life (even if I may still worry from time to time)?” It seems as though the first step is naming this, and acknowledging the gap. If the parent and child can align in the goal to develop a new maturity to their relationship, it is much more likely to succeed.
An example of this is when my brothers and I say something in reference to nightlife habits in college. Seemingly innocent, curiosity based questions such as: “how much did you drink?” or even “where did you go?” may be asked as a way to keep up with the child’s endeavors, but these same questions may have been asked years before with the potential of accompanying punishment, so the response habits have been formed to consider that possibility.
It took me a long time to adjust to this difference, and I still sometimes fall back into locked down, punishment-avoidance mode out of habit. I obviously have no idea what it is like to raise children - and nobody in my position can fully empathize with the position of our parents. However, trying to understand their perspective and taking steps to increase open communication can help bridge the knowledge gap and the accompanying communication gap.
I will name that writing this feels strange, and I have some imposter syndrome even just commenting on the parent-child relationship having only experienced one side of it. These thoughts come from lovely and curious conversations with my mom, and of course there are still plenty of misunderstandings that come about as we talk.
My final thoughts center around the love in these relationships, the reason why they matter enough to deserve this attention. While the dynamics between parents and children may be complex, and passing time is an ever-complicating factor, the deep mutual caring can always be a perfect reference point in these often challenging conversations. Regardless of whether a conversation is frustrating, effective, or somewhere in between, taking the time to remind somebody how important they are to you can always help it move in the right direction.
Happy Mother’s Day to all, especially to my personal favorite, my own Mom.
OBSERVE-CHOOSE-INTEGRATE