Flabbergasted
Flabbergasted. I love this word. It’s just fun to say. Flabbergasted.
A couple of weeks ago, I was flabbergasted by my own parenting skills. I mean I was flabbergasted that I made some good parenting decisions. I know. Shocking.
My nine-year old daughter found out that her tumbling coach was no longer at her gym. This coach had been working with my daughter for four years on her skills. I soon realized that my daughter was going to go through the stages of grief. What did I do? I let her grieve. I let her go through denial, sadness, and anger, which she took out on me. There was even a little bargaining.
Finally, she is starting to accept the fact that her coach is not coming back. I let her grieve, and let her work out her feelings without me stepping in and tell her that it would be all right.
We usually think of grieving in terms of someone dying, but it’s not. We can grieve for many things: a life that we gave up, our old body, a friend that has moved, lost relationships, and even a tumbling coach. It’s all right, and it’s normal.
She’ll bring up her tumbling coach every other day and talk about her, and I’ll listen. I miss her, too. But the fact that I let my daughter work out her feelings and not try to put a band-aid over them is why I am flabbergasted. I made a good decision with parenting, and my daughter is adjusting. Score one for the crazy, blog writer.
Now, I’m really going to be flabbergasted when I start making healthy decisions on how to take care of myself.
Just to cut myself a break, I am being much kinder to myself, slowing down, and enjoying moments in life.
Ah, now I am flabbergasted.
