Joyce 🐝 Bowen Brand Ambassador @ beBee en Lifestyle, Publishers & Bloggers, English Public Speaker • RAINN 3/12/2017 · 3 min de lectura · 1,4K

Raising Children


Raising ChildrenEven as a psychologist, my logical side, and emotional side are often at odds with (or even at war with) each other. It’s probably a result of being forced into a state of extreme survivalism as a child. I used my logic to save my life and/or avoid pain. Emotions poised like a runner waiting for the shot indicating they must Go-o-o-o. I capped them. I had to survive.

When I had my own children, I made a silent vow not to subject them to what I had suffered as a child. I ogled childhood through their eyes as they emerged from babies into little people. It was glorious. I was so entranced by the little lives I guided that I wrote the poem below, had it done up by an artist, framed it, and hung it on the wall surrounded by pictures of them.

One of my favorite memories is of three garden slugs that traveled up the stairs to our concrete platform outside our back door. They were feeding off of dry dog food from our dog’s dish. I came up with the idea that we should remove the dog’s dish (sparing our dog, Tag, the slime), plunk ourselves down, and feed the slugs ourselves. We’d lace ourselves up the stairs and enjoy ourselves with discovery. I’d have one child on either side of me. We’d pat the slugs and watch them eat. I had thought they would be slimy all over, but they’re not. Their upper bodies have a skin that is akin to snakes. It was a marvel. They greeted us every day during the season.

Boys grow into men. I made the transition easily, calling my men men. But these men could not transition into friendship with me—leaving me in an advisory capacity only. They became strong—stronger than me, and they reveled in it.

We all have trials with our offspring. Some are different—some the same. I guided my children with a firm and loving hand. I fought for or supplied everything they needed during their growing years and then some. My sons remember those traits as control and sought to impose that on me in retribution. Since I never saw control as an issue, I could not see it. Not until now. Perhaps a woman raising men alone was not a good idea.

My house is gone. My youngest—nearly forty-one-years-old—must go off on his own. He has stopped paying his way here, so I carry the burden. About ten days ago we had a conversation in which my son’s face screwed up in anger, and he loudly declared.

“You finally got control.”

My mind boggled, and I was stunned. I never saw control as an issue. The rules I applied were only in regards to safety and security. He has done some things to jeopardize our insurance coverage. If they cancel our house insurance, they cancel my mortgage. No roof for either of us. Rules are imposed on me as a homeowner—I just pass them along.

I’ve had to emotionally disconnect from my sons. Logically, I know I have to. But if there is one case emotions can rule—it is Love. Splitting off from the relationships I have with my sons now, and the relationships I had with them depicted in my poem is hard. As I age, I want to hold on to those happy memories I had with my little men without the difficult times I have with them now merging. I want them to be pristine and pure. I gave up a lot but got much in return.

I don’t want the water to wash my sand castles away.

                                                                Paul and Nasso

                         Freedom flies
                       in those blue skies
                  but not for me to follow

                    My freedom lies
                   down here below
              in little Paul and Nasso

          Constellations rise and flow
     still, they are not for me to know
              When time for dreams
                  comes to go
      there's always Paul and Nasso

             Though they twinkle
              though they glow
               I reach to touch
             but stop, I know
             that such is not
           for me there's all
  in precious Paul and Nasso

            Warm cold nights
            we spend, we do
    Paul and Nasso and me, too
          My stars they shine
            Oh yes they do
My sweet, sweet Paul and Nasso

Copyright 2017 Joyce Bowen

About the Author: Joyce Bowen is a freelance writer and public speaker. Inquiries can be made at
Sobre el autor: Joyce Bowen es un escritorindependiente y orador público. Las consultaspuedenhacerse en

Alex Dunn 16/3/2018 · #14

I read this when you posted it before,it is lovely..


#11 I couldn't get a better picture, probably because of the glass. Changed the whole thing instead.


#11 It's a photo. I will try to use my camera to get a better shot tomorrow. I put the poem down the bottom of the post in case folks wanted to read it. Life is hectic, so I did a quick job.

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Dorothy Cooper 4/12/2017 · #11

Is it possible to reshare this graphic, because it is not discernible?. I would love to read your post. Thanks @Dorothy-Cooper

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#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #6 #7 #8 What great comments, all of you. @Lisa Vanderburg, @Pascal Derrien, @Harvey Lloyd, @Mohammed A. Jawad. What is there to add? Nothing methinks.

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Lisa Vanderburg 4/12/2017 · #8

#7 You are a fine dad, I bet your sweet bee-hind @Pascal Derrien! :)

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Pascal Derrien 4/12/2017 · #7

Parenting is tricky I too want to pass on a different a experience to my twos and by doing so maybe we become so obsessed in achieving it that we produce the opposite , not by intent obviously as we see control as protection, they don't get it and maybe they don't need to understand from where it does come from, ignorance is bliss and not always a rewarding quality. I take it day by day at this stage :-)

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