Radical Welcome
My favorite rose: David Austin ‘Lady of Shalott’
People just want to be seen, heard, and understood.
Giyen said this in response to some Big Question we were discussing. Was it about parenting? Friendship? Writing? It doesn't really matter. The universal truth of it is ringing in my mind as I get ready for my adult kids to move back home.
Context: my 22 year-old daughter has just graduated from college and needs a cheap, reliable base from which to plot her next moves. My 25 year-old son is landing in Portland after several post-college years in the Midwest, and our house is the logical place to touch down.
It so happens they're arriving around the same time.
My kids' return to their old bedrooms is neither surprising nor problematic, it's just the necessary next step for each of them. Neither considers this the ideal living situation, but after holding their plans up to the financial realities, they're adjusting accordingly.
And they're more than welcome. This will require serious adjustment on all our parts, but it helps to know (as much as we know anything) it's temporary.
I'm relieved Rael and I still have room for them. We've been talking about reducing our residential footprint for years. The gargantuan task of clearing out my Mom's house only supercharged our desire to downsize. But the dark chaos of the last few years swamped those plans. This isn’t the time to uproot ourselves and roll the financial dice.
I'm glad we stayed put and have the physical space for our two former-children to move back in. But what about the mental space? It's not like we're just picking back up with older versions of the kids who moved out years ago.
To state the obvious: Sam and Mirabai are different people now.
They've developed their own ways of living, eating, relaxing, and socializing. We've gotten hints over the years, but sharing the same house again will come with a whole new level of exposure. We're thrilled to have them with us and at the same time we're buckling up for rough riding through the transition.
Rael and I have changed, too.
We're pretty attached to the privacy and crumb-free countertops of empty nest living.
But it goes deeper than lifestyle details: we've also grown beyond our previous roles.
Our kids are no longer the default center point. We'll always be their parents, of course, but our interests (both shared and individual) have had time to ripen. We've embraced and leaned into our differences. We live and eat differently now. I suspect we give off different (and, dare I say, better) vibes as a couple than we did as the "Mom and Dad" they knew before they left.
There's no going back, and that's a good thing.
This is a chance to get to know each other again, and to move into the next phase of our lives together as adults.
I'm grabbing this opportunity with both hands by practicing what I'm calling radical welcome.
Radical welcome operates on the idea that the most powerful way to show your love is to pay attention.
This might look like:
Enthusiastic interest in who these kids are now.
Approaching conversations with relaxed curiosity.
Being open to their growth even if I don't understand it (yet).
Trying out new behaviors and communicating in new ways instead of collapsing into old roles and patterns.
Radical welcome involves letting my kids see, hear and understand me.
Empty nesting gave me enough distance to look back on my “mom martyrdom” when the kids were younger. I would take my needs off the table (often without anyone knowing) as a way to circumvent tension or conflict.
This didn't serve anyone; it just created the conditions for snowballing resentment and misunderstanding. What's more, I unwittingly took away the opportunity for my family to show up for me.
Radical welcome assumes my kids' adulthood — and my own.
I hand over responsibilities without fanfare, knowing they're strong enough to carry them.
I give my and Rael's needs as much weight as theirs.
When there's a problem, I bring it up firmly and directly, trusting they (and I) will handle whatever tension comes up.
I remind them we've outgrown old patterns and let them work out how to proceed.
Nothing will eliminate the friction that's bound to come up as we adjust to living together again. No matter how enlightened this all sounds, we're still their parents, and pushing against us is part of the deal. I expect things will be messy for a while. Old stuff from childhood will jump out of closets and unresolved issues will bubble up through the floorboards, and I'll probably lose my cool on a regular basis.
But I'll just try again. What else can I do? That's life as a family.
Whatever happens, I want to get across — through my words, tone, and actions — that I treasure our new adulthoods together. We're sharing the same square footage, but there's more space around each of us to be individuals. I want my kids to know they can count on our family's love and familiarity without having to revert to previous versions of themselves.
And I want them to see by our example that adulthood isn't a fixed point: we continue growing up for the rest of our lives.
