They don’t prepare you for this part of parenting in any baby book. Nobody tells you that decades after you’ve stopped cutting grapes into quarters and checking for fevers, you might face the hardest parenting decision of your life.
I was in my 60s when my phone rang with my daughter calling from county jail. In my wisdom years – when I should have had this parenting thing figured out. In my 60s, when I’d already survived the terrible twos, turbulent teens, and terrifying 20s.
But here’s what I’d learned: Sometimes wisdom looks like doing absolutely nothing.
The Pattern I Couldn’t See
For years, I’d been caught in what therapists call “enabling.” I prefer to call it “loving my daughter to death.” Every time she stumbled, I caught her. Every time she fell, I built a safety net. Lost her apartment? Move back home. Lost her job? I’d make some calls. Lost her way? I’d find it for her.
I thought I was being a good mother. I was actually being a barrier between my daughter and her own life.
I’d spent the last several years in a constant state of anxiety. Would she be okay? Would this be the crisis I couldn’t fix? I was pouring from an empty cup, and we were both drowning.
The 2 AM Choice
When she called from jail, my first instinct was pure mama bear. I was already mentally calculating bail money, rehearsing what I’d say to the judge, planning how I’d get her back on track – again.
But then something different happened. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was the clarity that sometimes comes at 2 a.m. Maybe it was grace. But I paused.
In that pause, I saw our future if I kept rescuing her: more crises, more calls, more years of both of us locked in this painful dance. I saw that my “love” was actually destroying her chance to grow up and my chance to have a life of my own.
So, I said the words that tore my heart out: “I love you. But I’m not coming.”
What the Pause Technique Taught Me
That night marked my introduction to what I now call The Pause Technique. It’s not about being cruel or punishing our adult children. It’s about creating space between their crisis and our response – space for them to grow and for us to breathe.
Here’s what the pause gave us:
- For her: The opportunity to face consequences without my buffer. To call a public defender instead of Mom. To reach out to the recovery community she’d been ignoring. To discover she was stronger than she knew.
- For me: The chance to remember I’m not just her mother – I’m Christine. I have dreams, friends, a life I’d put on hold for years of crisis management. I learned that loving her didn’t mean destroying myself.
- For us: A relationship based on reality instead of rescue. Today, we talk as adults. She’s proud of what she’s built, and I’m proud of her – not despite the struggle, but because of what she did with it.
The Pause at Our Age
There’s something particularly difficult about practicing tough love in our 60s. We’re acutely aware that time is precious. We wonder: What if this is the last chance? What if something happens and I wasn’t there?
But here’s the truth I learned: Being there doesn’t mean doing everything. Being there can mean stepping back so they can step forward.
At our age, we’ve earned the wisdom to know that some lessons can only be learned the hard way. We’ve lived long enough to see that character is built in struggle, not cushioned in comfort.
How to Start Your Own Pause Practice
If you’re caught in the rescue cycle with an adult child, try this:
- Recognize the pattern. Write down the last five “emergencies” you solved. Do you see a theme?
- Calculate the cost. What is constant rescuing costing you – financially, emotionally, physically?
- Start small. You don’t have to start with jail. Practice pausing before you respond to smaller requests.
- Build your support. Find other parents who understand. You need people who will hold you accountable to the pause when everything in you screams to rescue.
- Remember this: You can love them fiercely and let them struggle. These aren’t opposites – they’re partners.
The Life After the Pause
It’s been years since that phone call. My daughter is 36 now, living in her own apartment, working a job she’s proud of, building a life on a foundation she laid herself.
And me? Late in my 60s, I’m finally living my own life. I work. I travel. I write. I have energy for my friends, my interests, my own dreams. I’m not waiting for the next crisis call.
Our relationship is built on truth instead of rescue. She knows I love her. But she also knows I trust her to handle her own life.
The pause broke both our hearts. But sometimes things need to break before they can heal properly.
If you want to dig deeper into the rescue-and-regret cycle and how to get out, please look into my program, The Marriage and Motherhood Survival Method.
Your Story:
Have you struggled with letting an adult child face consequences? You’re not alone, and it’s never too late to change the pattern. Have you been able to practice the Pause?
