If you give a mom a problem, she’s going to do her best to solve it.

Although I’ve recently learned, that is not always the best approach.

For years I have prided myself on my ability to see clearly and to see through any problem that might arise for my offspring.  I jump in, fully clothed, because I can swim through these murky waters to safely get to the other side and solve the problem as I’m paddling.

First, I listen intently, not passing judgement.  Once the issue at hand has been stated, I start rattling off a bunch of suggestions in an attempt to solve the problem:  Did you try this approach?  Can you try that outlook instead?  Possibly do or say something differently next time?

You get my drift.  I want to make everything right in their world, even though we all know that is not realistic or how they grow on their own.  But Momma Bear mode kicks in, and I want to fix the problem pronto.

While this approach may have been acceptable while they were younger and living under the same roof as me, my offspring are no longer tolerant of this technique, and rightfully so.

When I receive a phone call from one of my college-age sons, it’s to talk but on their terms.  They have initiated the call and they have an agenda.  Evidently, I’ve proven to be a good listener over the years, if nothing else, so it’s worth a phone call to them.

If my oldest son is calling, I know I have a precious 4-16 minutes of his time, and I know this because I look at the length of our call when it ends.  Brief but to the point.  I’ll take those precious minutes any time of the day.

If my youngest son is calling, I know I don’t have to hold my breath for fear the call will end too soon; he likes to unburden himself whole-heartedly, and I will take those precious unending minutes any time of the day as well.

What I have discovered, and it proves you can still learn at my age, is the boys are not asking me to solve a problem; they merely want to vent, discuss, chat because I am their sounding board, their safety net, and they want to be heard, not coddled or doted on or cajoled in to thinking everything is going to be fine because not all problems are solved.

My learning curve was slow initially.  I assumed because they are far, far away from home, a phone call from college was a distress signal.  I was proven wrong time and again.  As they were divulging what was on their minds, I was plotting ways to resolve the issue, saving the day in my silky red cape.

The result of my attempted heroics was not pretty.  The conversations were ending in frustration on both ends, one, because they weren’t seeking answers, and two, because initially I didn’t understand why they were frustrated.  Clearly, they didn’t want my help.  Instead of gratitude at my willingness to intercept and correct, I was hearing, “Never mind,” or “You don’t get it.”

But I do!  I do get it, sweet boys of mine!  I’m a slow learner but I’m catching on.  Don’t give up on me yet!

Fortunately for me, they did not give up on me but accepted my desire to assist.  In turn, I caught on and stopped trying to fix everything, letting the phone calls play out as the boys wanted, and ending each conversation with “I love you.”

What helped me come to this conclusion was a reflection on my own college years and my relationship with my mother.  I can envision the same scenario playing out 30-plus years ago; a distressed phone call to my mother, not asking her for advice but simply to listen, here me out, because I was troubled.  And she did. 

Knowing she was on the other end of the line made me feel safe, it was comforting, and I knew I was not alone.

My mother never advised me on the situations I presented under slight duress but instead she led by silent example, not trying to solve for me but letting me absolve myself through my rant.  I cannot tell you how cleansed I felt as a young adult unburdening myself in the safe zone she provided.

I now find it easy to slip into the role she modeled as a mom so many decades ago; she instinctively knew what not to do.  Listening without commentating might be a rare art form we need to bring back.

To this day, my mother rarely calls me but waits for my call when day to day life bubbles over and I can’t contain myself anymore.  She dutifully listens to my exploits and issues.  In turn, I find myself NOT calling my boys at college so as not to interrupt their lives but also dutifully waiting for either the 4-minute update or the 45-minute narrative.

I will take either call, and, I will go lightly on the problem solving…just listen, right?