I sort of learned to ride my bike with no hands this week. I say sort of, because it’s really only been a few moments of what felt like flying, nothing mastered, but a sense of progress anyway. Seeing as I’ve been riding a bike for over 30 years, any new skill at this point is remarkable and surprising.
The urge to let go of the handlebars came during an unusually long bike ride that offered up a unique combination of mania (the vineyards! the ocean!), seething neck pain and moments of boredom (did I mention it was a very long ride?).
As the miles ticked along, I realized that riding with no hands required both supportive internal and external conditions. Internally, there was a certain sense of balance (leaning too far back or too far forward just didn’t work) and a commitment to the process–a fearlessness, as silly as it sounds. Meanwhile, the perfect combination of a level path, no wind, and a lack of oncoming bicyclists also seemed an essential part of the process.
I have been riding with no hands when it comes to special needs parenting for some time now, ever since our huge move has had my attention elsewhere–getting a job, a place to live, a dog, converting recipes into metrics and Celsius. With so much to take in, I took my hands off the handlebars, trusting that the people around me would keep us safe (a correct hunch), that my mom detectors would sound even if 99% of me was caught up with figuring out the recycling rules of my new homeland, that I would take the handlebars again when it was time.
I have been here before, and I know many other parents of children who need special medical, behavioral and recreational support who have too. We’d like to think of ourselves as able to be fully focused, fully on, 24/7/365, and so would the people who help us. But we can’t. Sometimes we just need to let go. Sometimes for a day, sometimes longer.
Call it what you will–neglect, self-care, or coasting. Whether we beat ourselves up over it or celebrate it, I think it is a major part of this parenting process, and one that is rarely referred to. Society likes to label us as either “disengaged” or “super mom.” These labels hurt us all. Life is not so binary.
I’m glad I took the break. We got to develop relationships with new teachers and others without having them feel like we were constantly evaluating them. And now that there’s less “new” and more “life” in my “new life,” I am better able to lean forward, grab the bars, and hunker down for the next part of the journey.
I would love to hear from others about how they toggle between holding on and letting go of responsibility and engagement. I think we owe it to ourselves and those too afraid to both take the handlebars or to let go of them to talk more openly about how we sustain ourselves.