A Crossroads of Advocacy and Acceptance

When my son was born over eight years ago, I remember the nurses at the hospital giving me all kinds of supplies the day we were discharged: diapers, antibacterial cream, hats, blankets, and a cute little diaper bag to hold it all. As the nurse loaded everything in to the bag, she asked if I needed anything else. I shook my head, silently (sarcastically) thinking to myself: um, how about a book on what I’m supposed to do now?

Oh, yes, I had the requisite new-mom library of books that purported to help us through the first few months and years of parenting. They helped, marginally. Looking back, though, my silent request seemed fairly prophetic.

I have experienced situations as a mother that no book, essay, or video could ever adequately prepare us for as parents. In fact, over these past two weeks, I’ve had to take on a completely new role: an advocate for my child as he and his classmates were exposed (repeatedly) to dangerous toxins in their school.

In my professional career, I have had to learn how to advocate for others in measured and effective ways. But when it comes to your child, emotions take over. I was in brand-new territory, and there was no manual for me to consult. This went way beyond someone cutting in front of my son at the park swings. I, along with dozens of parents, rode an emotional roller coaster of disbelief, anger, frustration, and sheer anxiety as we wandered through the complicated maze of city, state, and federal regulations, laws, and protocols. Scared and confused, we wrote letters, had meetings, organized press rallies, made phone calls to elected officials, and leaned on each other for support during frustrating times. We did everything we could think of to protect our children.

We knew our children had been exposed to a known carcinogen, but the details were sketchy. We knew we had to address the situation, which meant both changing the physical problem and fixing the inadequate policies that caused our children unnecessary toxic exposure, but we were not trained in advocacy. And yet, as we have done so many times since our children were born, we learned how to do something new – become advocates; we recognized this as one more example of “on the job training.” So we just plowed ahead, making mistakes and learning as we journeyed toward our children’s safety.

Along the way, I learned that passion for our children’s well-being far outweighs the effectiveness of any formal advocacy training. Many of us were incredibly outspoken; we needed to effectuate positive and real results. But not everyone was in agreement with our methods, and some of us experienced the backlash of making waves in a bureaucratic environment.

I remember at the end of one meeting, I was so upset I started to cry. My husband assumed I was upset about the toxins. Yes, that was part of it. But the reality was that I was afraid that some of my fellow parents and school officials didn’t likeme anymore. Here I was trying to protect my son and his classmates from dangerous carcinogens, and all I could think about was that no one would speak to me anymore at drop-off or at the Spring Fair.

Some of the fathers in our group could not understand my concerns. Their position was that if we had to advocate for our children’s health, then the social consequences were irrelevant, or at least secondary.

My mind understood that, but I believed that tearing down relationships was not ideal for ongoing communication and positive change. After all, would this be the last school-related issue we would have to address as advocates for our children? There has to be a balance; and yet, through this experience, I also have come to accept that some situations are so polarizing, that such a balance is, admittedly, unachievable (and perhaps even unwelcome).

I learned during this process that there are different ways to represent our children’s best interests, and some are more effective than others, depending on the issues and the social/political environment. I learned that mean girls sometimes grow up to be mean moms, and that gossiping and bullying really don’t end when you’re a teenager. I learned that cliques will develop quickly when fear and uncertainty reign, and that, just like in high school, sometimes social relationships take priority over the issues that really matter.

But most of all, I learned that the desire to be liked – accepted – doesn’t really ever dissipate.

It’s still there, in the deepest part of our souls, waiting for the right moment to rear its uncertain head. It affects how we act – or when we decide not to act. I had to push that insecurity aside to actually be an effective advocate for my child. I had to allow my passion for my child’s health and safety quell the need to be accepted, liked. I had to learn that, sometimes, being an advocate means accepting the consequences of taking a stand that may not be popular with everyone. And that, sometimes, being a parent is hard.

I thought back to the day I left the hospital with my son at a random moment during a heated meeting where parents were yelling at school officials and at each other. I remembered how I held him tight, swaddled in his blanket, a hat on in early September, as we ventured out into the big, scary world for the first time together. I promised to always keep him safe. And that made – makes – me his advocate, at least for now.

I may not have a how-to manual – and it may not make me popular – but it’s part of what makes me his mom. And it gives me another reason to be grateful for my children: just one more “on the job training” experience that has helped me effectuate a positive change, and to grow not only as a parent, but as a person. I’ll take that over being accepted any day.

* This article originally appeared on The Mommy Vortex.