Parenting a Teen: Lessons in Humility

"No one reaches the kingdom of Heaven except by humility"
--St Augustine

Humility is not a virtue that I thought I struggled with. I don't think anyone would say that I brag or try to draw attention to myself. Actually, I thought that I had more of a struggle with the opposite--like many women, I've had low self-esteem for much of my life. But in reading about the Blessed Mother, about how chief among her virtues is humility, and how humility is often called the queen of virtues, I thought it would be good to better understand it. So I prayed, "Lord, please teach me humility."

And boy, did He ever.

My oldest daughter has struggled with depression for the past three years. A combination of genetic predisposition and some difficult losses seems to have brought it on. But we thought we were doing pretty well. As soon as we realized there was a problem, we found a family therapist with great credentials. That's what good parents do, right? Except that she's been getting more and more overwhelmed with the activities of senior year, and pushing us away rather than asking for help. It finally came to a head with a suicide threat, and after an agonizing week, placement in a psychiatric facility.

This is humility. When all you've ever promised yourself is that you would be a good mother, and your daughter coldly tells you that she hates you. When you've done everything you could think of to get her help, and it hasn't been enough. When you're ashamed that your child is in a psychiatric facility, you're thinking that everyone will know what a bad parent you must be, yet you get ground down to a point where you have to explain to your boss and coworkers why you have to take some time off and you don't even care what they think anymore. When you have to go to school functions for your other children, and you see how many people avoid you now, because they don't know what to say. When you know your shame and complete failure is on stage for everyone to see, and you would happily endure that feeling forever if it somehow made your child well again.

It turns out that I required a sharp lesson in humility.

Maybe I didn't brag, but there were certainly things that I clung to. I clung to the idea that my husband and I were good parents. I clung to an idea of professionalism that kept my personal and work lives separate. I clung to being the one people asked for help, not the one asking it from others. I clung to appearing composed and not crying in public. All of these were not only broken down, but crushed so thoroughly that I couldn't even pretend to maintain them, and couldn't even care whether or not I did. It was the most painful thing my husband and I have ever been through.

At the same time, though, God made it clear that He was there with us through all of it. The day before my daughter went into crisis, my husband had attended a retreat, gone to Confession for the first time in years, and began the Marian Consecration in preparation for the Year of Mercy. He has begun praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy every day, and attending daily Mass on his days off. I had been reading about St. Zelie Martin, mother of St. Therese, which had led me to the story of St. Therese's sister Leonie. Leonie was a difficult child, who in our times would probably have been diagnosed with an emotional or behavioral disorder. She was rejected multiple times from school due to her behavior and slow learning, and despite her desire to become a nun, left the convent three times before finally taking vows. And even a holy woman like St. Zelie Martin--an excellent mother who endured the deaths of four children with great faith and raised five daughters who devoted their lives to God--became frustrated with her most difficult daughter, and often wondered what was to become of "poor Leonie." But in the end, Leonie's struggles with her own temperament led her to have great empathy for others, and she was known for her kindness and humility.

I don't know what the end of our story will be. Few people, even the greatest saints, get to know the end of the story. If so many of them have died before they could see the meanings of the hardships they've endured, how can I expect more consolations than they received? All we can do is offer our daughter love and support, and pray. And when I feel paralyzed by fear and sadness, I imagine myself as a child walking through a frightening forest, unable to see, but clinging to the Blessed Mother's hand as she leads me through this darkness to the Light.