Parenting is commonly described as one of life’s greatest joys, but also one of its most intense stresses. The introduction of a child into your life is unmistakably transformative. It requires adjustments, realignments, and reevaluations, not just of your lifestyle, but of the very core of your being. Once upon a time, someone told me that having a child is like having a piece of your heart walking around outside your body. I never quite understood the gravity of that sentiment until the birth of my son. Today, as a parent navigating the maze of advice, expectations, and judgement, one thought has crystallized: my son is, indeed, the center of my universe.
Popular culture, psychological theories, and conventional wisdom might rail against this idea, invoking words like ‘enmeshment’ and ‘neglecting self’ in judgment. Yet, as I’ve experienced it, treating my son as the center of my universe isn’t just about his actual position in my life, but about a catalytic focus that allows for a shift in perspective. It’s about finding the balance between selflessness and self-prioritization. In this post, I’m going to debunk the misconceptions and explain why, for now, my son is the star around which my life orbits—but why this isn’t the detrimental state it may seem.
The Misunderstood Universe
When I say my son is the center of my universe, it’s not a literal or a permanent position. It’s a metaphorical assertion of how my priorities have reordered since his arrival. The crux of the matter lies in the acknowledgment of evolution. My universe, like everyone else’s, is dynamic, not static. It is the aggregation of my emotions, thoughts, and engagements, all aligned around an axis that has recently tilted itself to accommodate my child. However, it is crucial to distinguish between a parent-centric life and a child-centric life.
At first glance, ‘child-centric’ raises red flags, inciting montages of helicopter parents stifling independent thought. But that is not the universe I’m constructing. A child-centric life, to me, is the artful blend of nurturing, leading by example, and setting the GPS of my life’s path to involve, influence, and raise my son. Thus, my universe persists, rich and varied as before, but with a notable emphasis on the responsibility and joy of parenthood. It is not about forsaking my needs, but about how my needs and desires integrate with those of my child, often, and necessarily, taking a backseat to his well-being.
An Ounce of Selflessness
In our modern individualistic society, being ‘selfless’ is often lauded without a full understanding of its implications. It does not mean sacrificing oneself for others. It means being considerate, generous, and understanding of the needs and welfare of others. In my case, it’s about tending to my son’s demands with the same swiftness and deliberation I would my own, ensuring his emotional, physical, and intellectual sustenance.
My universe, once preoccupied with my career, dreams, and burgeoning relationships, now finds a child at its nucleus. But this transition does not eclipse the rest; it amplifies the interconnectedness of all the elements in my universe. My son’s wellbeing is not in inverse proportion to mine; it’s intrinsically tied to it. After all, I need to be at my best to guide him well, and what is good for him is often good for me, too. Thus, selflessness in this context is both a choice and a necessity—it’s a decision to fulfill my role as mother in a way that harmonizes with the broader context of my life.
The Silent But Strong Ego
Freud is famous for his depiction of the ego as the driver of our psychological chariot, the seat of reason, the mediator of the id and the superego. Yet in the context of parenting, our view of the ego must adapt. It’s not the unabashed ‘selfish’ force it’s often made out to be; rather, it’s the silent but strong sense of self that, without clamoring for attention, ensures we retain our individuality even in the most fundamental transformations.
Treating my son as the center of my universe does not negate my existence—it reshapes it. My ego, in this parental stage, orchestrates the delicate dance between being ‘parent’ and ‘person.’ It tempers the extreme swings of prioritization, reminding me that I am not just a mother, but also a woman, a friend, a professional. Hence, the silent but strong ego helps in unfurling the sails of personal identity in the vast sea of parenthood, ensuring that the winds do not push me to a secluded cove, but among others who share my course.
Enmeshment, or Communion?
Enmeshment carries a negative connotation, suggesting an unhealthy and unbreakable bond—such as a child who cannot function without the parent’s influence, or a parent who perceives the child as an extension of themselves. However, I would argue that ‘communion’ is a more suitable word for the parent-child relationship I aspire to.
A communion sees two entities in close proximity, their needs intersecting and influencing each other in positive ways. In this context, treating my son as the center of my universe implies a shared universe, one where my life and his coexist in interwoven—but distinct—patterns. It’s a relationship of mutual fulfillment and growth, not one of dependency and reservation. This communion is about fostering an individual who, while irrevocably changed by my orbit, is able—and encouraged—to carve out his own path in the grand cosmos of life.
Self-Prioritization, Not Immolation
While the initial years of a child’s life are indeed demanding, self-prioritization is not a luxury I can afford to discard. Practicing self-care teaches my son the importance of well-roundedness, balance, and life optimization. It is through my example that he will learn to respect his needs while serving those of others.
In this reconfigured universe, my self-prioritization is crucial not only for my own well-being but for the ecosystem of our family. It ensures I have the stamina, the patience, and the resilience to be the best parent I can be. It’s akin to the airline safety demonstration—we must secure our own oxygen masks before assisting others. It appears paradoxical, but in essence, it’s about long-term support through secure selfishness.
In Conclusion: A More Inclusive Universe
My son is the center of my universe, not because he needs to be, but because he inspires a reworking of the gravitational pulls in the sphere of my life. This relabeling, upon deeper introspection, is not selfish—quite the opposite. It’s about acknowledging that the universe I shared with my son before his arrival was not our final iteration but a precursor to a richer, more textured galaxy we are now co-creating.
Parenting is a cosmic charge. It compels us to perceive ourselves within the larger context of generations to come—to be planets unto ourselves, and someday, beloved moons in our children’s skies. It challenges us to redefine our universe not in terms of independence or self-abnegation, but in woven threads of purpose and interconnectedness.
My son may be the center of my universe today, but tomorrow, he’ll be charting his own course among the stars. Until then, I will delight in the constellations we shape together, confident that such a parent-centric —child-centric union is not a sacrifice, but a beautifully complex dance of love and growth. It’s a universe where all our needs are met, and all our dreams orb each other in the endless expanse of possibility.
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