Every time I post on Instagram, I think of my friend Hannah. Among her many other talents, she handles social media for a local nonprofit. I knew when I launched this Substack that I could do a better job of my own social media, especially Insta. So I called her.
She came to the lunch we booked with a page of helpful notes; she had thought through what I might need and how best to help me. I was pleased that I had already done a few of the things she suggested, but I learned a lot from her notes and our conversation, before we shifted into catching up over the lemongrass tofu. I wasn’t embarrassed to ask her my stupid questions, or get her take on what I’d been posting and how it could be better. I knew she’d only want to be helpful, that she only wanted the best for me.
As I drove back to my office after lunch, I was overcome with a feeling I’ve had only a few times before: The wonderful feeling of developing an adult relationship with someone I’d known nearly since she was born.
Because Hannah isn’t just a girlfriend to me. She and her family have been our chosen family since we moved in down the block from each other and Hannah and my son Tomas started day care together. Our family photo albums are full of pictures of Hannah and Tomas together through the years. I’ve heard my only child describe Hannah as his sister.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how you develop adult relationships with your (almost) adult children. Some days it makes me wonder why I spent so much time worrying about the baby and toddler years. The stakes are so much higher now. I have so much less control, if I ever really did.
And I’m inexperienced with these relationships, since I never got to try being an adult with my own mother, who died when I was in my 20s, firmly still in my separation/I-know-best phase. I’d moved immediately after college to New York City and, while I counted on her unconditional love and our weekly long-distance conversations, I was still the child in our relationship. There were things she didn’t tell me, would never tell me. I’m sorry to say that I rarely asked her how things were going for her, either. Childish, right?
I hope my adult relationship with my son will be different. I already see what we could become: His passions and interests are so different from mine, which make our conversations fascinating and suprising. He shares (most of) his concerns and his disappointments and I work to be as honest with him as I can be. I understand that I don’t get (much of) a vote any more about his life decisions; we are long past me telling him what to do. In return for that difficult maternal developmental milestone, he has taught me so much about persistence, open-heartedness and adventure. I admire the man he has become.
I can feel us growing each other up, day by day, text by text. Because I do think the fact that we can be in touch so frequently makes it possible to have the kind of adult relationship that I might never have been able to achieve with my own parents, separated as we were by miles and phone bills.
But back to Hannah, another young adult I admire and love fiercely.
This weekend — Mother’s Day weekend — she’s getting married. Tomas is one of her bridesmen, which I have learned is a thing now (he’ll stand next to her, not on the guys’ side). I’m sure there will be tears of joy, probably from all of us.
Mostly, though, I’m looking forward to this new phase of Hannah’s life, and to getting to know both Hannah and her new husband Jacob as the impressive adults they are.
And feeling lucky — so lucky — to have this chance for new relationships with the young adults in my life.
Congratulations to Hannah! And I love the progression of pictures. Getting to know and admire your adult children is the best. You’re right, you never stop worrying, and that’s ok. Figure I’ve earned the right.
What a great topic, Leanne. Thank you! I am noticing my conversations with my adult nieces are like your conversations with your adult son. My recent Podcast with Adriane Johnson-Williams was picked up by one of nieces (I have no idea how she found it because I didn't tell anyone) ... and she shared it with my sisters, nieces and nephews. This too has taken our conversations to another "adult level." An important part of this is leaning into our own vulnerability.