I'm the Decider
on becoming the authority of your own life
I remember reading the parenting book Bringing Up Bébé when my daughter was a toddler. A book by American journalist Pamela Druckerman, who lived and raised her children in France, she exposed the great difference between French and American parenting. To be clear, she thought French parents did it better. And I don’t necessarily disagree. I loved the concepts in the book even though I struggled to implement them.
But one phrase and idea from that book has stuck with me, in its French form. C’est moi qui decidé. It translates to: it’s me who decides. The idea behind it is that no matter how much complaining a child does, as a parent, you must retain your authority. I’m the decider. And I’m saying no (or yes, or we’re leaving, etc.).
This is a different approach from the Dr. Becky, Americanized parenting of today where children maintain their rights to their feelings and opinions, and we strive to listen, validate, but also hold firm. Although maybe its not that different from Dr. Becky’s two things are true. You want to jump on the coach. I can’t let you jump on the coach.
Though I loved this phrase, c’est moi qui decidé, and would repeat it to myself to get more sturdy in what I was asking of my kids, at its heart, I didn’t believe it. It’s me who decides? Yeah, right. When has that ever been true?
I’ve written before about my codependency, and my tendency to acquiesce. The reason I struggled with this concept in parenting is because I never felt like the decider in my life. I have an identical twin, and we were constantly negotiating decisions throughout our childhood and adolescence, even up to where we went to college (she decided on Davidson College pretty early on. I went to Wake Forest partly in reaction so that I could be an hour’s drive from her and we could continue to share a car). When I started dating my soon to be ex-husband, I was 23-years-old. I wanted to get married quickly (I was still shedding my evangelical Christian ways). He didn’t want to get married until he finished business school. At the time, he hadn’t even started the two-year program. We ended up getting married after dating five years.
I was not taught to be a decider. I was not conditioned to claim authority. In fact, I was primed to cede authority…to my parents, to my sister, to God, to my husband. So to all of a sudden in motherhood step into my power? No way. It wasn’t possible.
Besides the fact, motherhood was rife with indecision, fuzzy boundaries, unclear next steps. Is she sick enough to keep home from school or is this runny nose allergies? Should we sleep train or bring her into our bed to get more sleep? Should I keep my full-time job commuting up to the city, or shift to freelance so we don’t have to find full-time childcare? Nothing was black and white. Nothing felt easy or clear. Everything was nuanced and complicated and I didn’t know the right answer despite feeling like a good mother should.
Thus imagine the power I felt when, upon leaving my marriage, I discovered that finally, for once, everything was up to me. Where I was going to live, how my new home would be furnished, even who would live in this new home. The day after I moved into my new rental home, I adopted two cats. My ex had never wanted cats, more than that, would not ALLOW cats in our household. I left him with the dog (read about why that choice wasn’t difficult here), and for once got to do what I wanted. They have been the greatest gift as I transitioned to life on my own. Every time they snuggle up with me, every time I walk into the house and they greet me with their sweet meows, I’m reminded of my freedom. Of my choice. Of my agency. C’est moi qui decidé.
Yes, sometimes that power is terrifying and I definitely miss having a sounding board to discuss decisions with, but I would never go back. Even more, this dependence on myself has allowed me to see how capable I am. That I ceded so much to my husband that I could have, and should have, handled myself.
In April of this year, I picked up several of my daughter's friends to go to a mall about 20 minutes from our house. I brought my younger daughter with me, and while her sister and her friends were going to shop, we were going to visit the Jeep dealership nearby to test drive a Jeep. My car’s lease was about to expire, a car I had not chosen but my ex had chosen for me (I am not a car person. The only thing I really care about is a sunroof and heated seats). I thought I’d explore some options before I had to make a final decision. I had forgotten that whenever you step onto a car lot, they will do everything in their power to not let you leave without a new car.
I’d never really been in charge of a car purchase before. My parents had bought my sister and I a used car to share when we were in high school, then my mom bought me a Honda Civic upon college graduation and my move out to California. I’d had that car until I was married and had a baby and then we upgraded to an SUV.
At this point, the sales associate was trying to convince me to trade in my SUV that day. I only had three months left on the lease and I could see how just having the decision made would be a relief. But I had come here to test drive, not decide what kind of monthly payment I could afford. My divorce settlement wasn’t finished so I was still unclear on what my financial situation would be. Plus my sweet ten year old was with me and she was getting tired of all the negotiations. We decided to leave, as it was time to pick up the girls at the mall. We walked out and I got in my car only to realize that I’d left my registration at the front desk (they asked for it while trying to determine whether they could buy out the rest of my lease). So I walked back in and of course they had another offer for me (did they hang on to it as a negotiation tactic?) and before I knew it I was shaking someone’s hand.
They wanted to take ownership of my old car right then. But I had neglected to think about the fact that my new car had one row of seats in the back, while my old one had two and my new car could not fit my daughter and all her friends. Thus I kept my old car, picked up the girls, dropped them off at home, Door Dashed some food for my daughters, and then drove back to the dealership to make the trade. My older daughter was annoyed that I’d bought a car, complicating her plans with her friends. Her friends seemed to think the whole thing was kind of funny. So did I.
But as I drove off that lot with my new car that evening, I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Yes, it was overwhelming and I’m always nervous about not making the smartest choice, but I had also negotiated my own car lease on my own. I had picked out a car I liked without consulting anyone but my daughter. I had determined what kind of car payment I could handle. I had done it. All on my own.
I drive that car with a pride and joy I’ve never felt with any other. Because I chose that car. I made the decision, negotiated the deal, consulted with myself on whether I wanted to accept it.
We have been conditioned as women to cede authority and decision making power. To acquiesce and look to others as wiser, smarter, the one who knows. Perhaps the reticence divorced women have to dating (read this brilliant essay by
) is they don’t want to give up the authority they have regained as single women. They don’t want to relinquish control. As I’ve talked to other divorced women, including a loan officer and a woman who works at Fastrak, we connect about the glory of living alone. The chance to starfish in your own bed, with no one else to make room for. The ability to make yourself nachos for dinner if you want, no man to cook for. We have spent decades of our lives living for others. We don’t want to do it anymore. Yes, maybe we might like some romance some day. But over and over in The Divorce Diaries, I’ve seen women who want to date, but don’t ever want to cohabitate. I totally agree.Divorce has shown me how capable I am and that it’s time to fully inhabit my own power. C’est moi qui decidé. I’m the decider. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Bringing Up Bebe was my favorite parenting book as well. And I probably have followed none of the advice over the years. Well, maybe some but I’m certainly no French mother (I wish). I did divorce though - when my second daughter was just 2.5 - because the weight of caring for three people became so overwhelming and suffocating. I dated after too but have again come to the conclusion that I don’t have the energy to caretake a man, not physically, not emotionally, not in any kind of way. And yeah, I don’t want to share my space with anyone besides my daughters. Never again.
The title of this story caught my eye, as I'm working on a piece called, "The Unexpected Joys of Solo Parenting." I'm currently separated and unsure what the future holds, but the idea of cohabitating with another man, my husband or otherwise, is becoming less and less palatable by the day!