I Hope My PKs Don't Think of Themselves as PKs

...or as therapist's kids, for that matter?

I got to witness the total eclipse this week but haven’t found the words I want to write about it well yet. Maybe next week? So today, you get my post-Easter reflections!

The best part of Easter was the egg hunt. Over and over again 😆

Sitting in my spouse’s church on Easter morning, I watched my 2 and 4 year olds scamper up and down the steps of the church stage, visiting their daddy in the pulpit. Much of me was mortified, especially since it was the holiday that draws many non-regulars to church. But the part of me that’s not easily embarrassed and self-conscious was glad.

My kids were clearly not afraid of me, as every nonverbal indication I gave them that I wished they’d sit still had them scooting back out of the pew and around the church again. They weren’t intimidated by any sanctimonious vibes of being in a church. And they didn’t notice the audience they held captive as my 4-year-old slithered her body down the steps and my 2-year-old cautiously but proudly high-stepped his way down, no hands needed. They were in their own world, being completely themselves.

My family has a pretty unusual relationship with church for having one of us be a pastor. My spouse and I agreed ahead of time that there were going to be no expectations for my involvement in whatever church he ended up serving: just because I was marrying him didn’t mean I was signing up to be a “pastor’s wife” in the stereotypical sense of the word. Because of this attitude, I didn’t really think of my future kids as one day being “pastor’s kids.” After all, they didn’t sign up for that deal. They were just born into a family with parents who have jobs. There’s no reason why their parents’ jobs should define their own identity.

Being a PK is usually more encompassing of one’s identity than, say, being an engineer’s kid or a physical therapist’s kid. A fairly standard way of envisioning PKs might be: PKs have to show up to church every Sunday, looking clean and well-dressed. Oh, and they arrive early. They sit in a row in the pew, making minor disturbances and somewhat giving the impression they’re listening to dad’s* [*because it’s gotta be a dad in conservative circles at least] message, or at least are quietly coloring on the bulletin. The mom somehow navigates shepherding her children around with making pleasantries or even pastoral conversations with church members (because many churches hire men assuming they’re getting a two-for-one deal where the wife will be highly involved, without pay, in various ways in the church). Then they’re one of the last ones to leave after making sure everything is cleaned up and put away.

Outside of Sunday services, PKs are supposed to be “good” kids who don’t get into trouble: high-achieving, respectful, and obedient. And of course, very religious. People assume that children of pastors should match the mold of what that church finds to be a highly desirable, moral person.

My kids, on the other hand, get taken to their dad’s church about once a month, for posterity’s sake. We are usually late, because, well, I’m their mother. They are dressed in whatever they were willing to wear and their hair is likely not combed or at least looks like it wasn’t combed. I spend my time at church looking after them, I talk to anyone who talks to me first, and I skedaddle as soon as I can wrangle them up again to go out the door.

And they’re too young now, but my plan for the future is that they can be as religious (or not) as they want to be. But I’m crossing my fingers that they don’t follow the path that I went down for the first half of my life. I’m not sure how much composure I would keep if they told me a friend invited them to their youth group on a Wednesday night, especially if we still lived out here in rural Ohio.

While we’re at it, I hope they also don’t feel identified as a therapist’s kid, either. My own therapist assures me that it’s okay to not wear my therapist hat when I’m being a parent, because frankly, I’m not up to the task. I’m very much a regular person when I’m not in my office. I try my best to be a good-enough parent who regulates her emotions as well as she can and works to create an environment for her kids to thrive… but it’s far from perfect. I need the bar set at “normal” for my own sake as well as theirs.

I suppose what I’m saying is that we all need and deserve the space to just “be.” Be whoever we are, fumbling along, making mistakes, but enjoying the company and scenery along the way and optimistic about the destination. My spouse and I have professions where others might make assumptions about how our kids “should” be: exemplary children with well-regulated emotions (lollll), or perhaps if they fail that, the rebel lost child. I hope the kids feel defined by their own selves instead of our jobs, though. Because honestly, I need that just as much as them!

Any PKs (or MKs) here that want to share their experience? What does your relationship look like with church now (including nonexistent!)? Where do you need some space to just be as you are instead of setting bars for yourself that it feels you can’t reach?