My earliest memories are of exploring the woods, trying to keep up with my older brother. We grew up in a secluded part of Northern California, spending our days beneath the expansive canopy of trees—picking wild berries, capturing frogs, and occasionally venturing to the dump to watch bears rummage through the trash.
If I was fortunate, my brother would let me hitch a ride on his bike handlebars as he zipped around town. Back then, helmets were non-existent (note: I do advocate for helmet safety now—some aspects of modern parenting are indeed beneficial), and we navigated gravel roads, steep hills, and the occasional scraped elbow.
I vividly recall one adventure where I fell onto a decaying log, resulting in countless splinters lodged in my palms that my mom had to remove while I slept. The sights, sounds, and smells of that day are entrenched in my memory—the aroma of rain-drenched earth, the taste of salty tears, and the way my hands resembled shattered railroad tracks.
My parents were loving and attentive, but they gave us the freedom to roam. They trusted us to navigate the potential dangers of the world and believed we would learn more from nature than from the confines of our home. Dinner time was simply a call to return, driven by our hunger for my mom’s legendary Swedish meatballs and other culinary delights.
Fast forward to today, and I find myself as a mother of two, living once again in a forest, but in a world where parenting norms have shifted dramatically. I often question my instincts about parenting. Should I allow my child to bike a quarter of a mile to a friend’s house? Is it safe for them to wander to the magical rocks nearby? Can they play without supervision? And if they want to run about in nothing but their birthday suits, who am I to stop them? After all, the deer won’t mind.
Yet, the voices of modern parenting echo in my mind, reminding me of the dangers that lurk—bears, strangers, fast-moving cars, and the unpredictability of life. The rise of helicopter parenting tells me that I should be perpetually alert, as if society collectively decided that children are incapable of making sound decisions.
This shift has led to judgments about parenting choices, even trivial ones like leaving my kids in the car for a moment while I run into the post office. It’s a situation I might not even confess to, given the potential for scrutiny.
As a child, I spent countless hours alone in the car, creating games, reading, or doodling. I’m certain my mother enjoyed shopping far more without me pleading for toys that broke upon first use—like those plastic high heels.
My heart urges me to let my children embrace their wildness, to create beautiful memories, while my mind wrestles with the fear of what could go wrong. The ‘what ifs’ cloud my thoughts relentlessly.
I reject the modern ideals of motherhood that promote fear and control. I find them dull and uninspired, filled with khaki pants, Tupperware parties, and sanitized childhood experiences. Childhood should not be defined by white walls, gaming chairs, and parents dictating every activity, outfit, and thought.
Childhood is about the exhilarating rush of running fast enough to feel like flying. It’s about messy hair, dirt-encrusted nails, and the adventure of picking at scabs until they bleed anew. It’s the spontaneity of imagination that blooms from observing a single blade of grass for hours. It’s about falling on a decayed log and truly experiencing the essence of being alive. I want my children to hold onto memories so vivid that they evoke a bittersweet nostalgia.
I recently asked my mom if she ever worried about us playing in the woods, and her response was one of disbelief. “No, I never worried about you. You were out there having fun!” Her confidence in our independence is something I admire.
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In summary, I choose to embrace a style of motherhood that values adventure, freedom, and the unforgettable experiences that come with childhood. It’s time to break free from the constraints of modern parenting and allow children to thrive in their natural environments.