Daughters Rising

Dear Daughter – How I Let You Go And What I Learned 

by Katherine Fabrizio

 

 

 

 

The heartbreak and gift of letting your daughter go

Dear Teenaged Daughter,

(written 10 years ago) 

You have that far away look in your eyes now. Home isn’t the center of your universe.

I knew it would be this way. I just didn’t know how much it would hurt.

That open face in the photo I have of you as a toddler, so eager and trusting of me- where did she go? Where did you go?

Yet, I reflect… my own mother struggled with letting me go, and I swore I’d do better. I just didn’t know it would hurt so much.

Now, made-up eyes and a knockout figure, you look down your pretty nose and smirk at the rest of us as though we were clueless trolls. I mispronounce the name of your favorite clothing store and you shudder visibly in disgust.

Even your compliments have a patronizing air.

Yesterday, the universe threw me a small crumb.

Watching TV in my bed, you were exhausted, and, uncharacteristically, fell asleep in my arms. It reminded me of when you were a baby and I’d let my arm go numb rather than move it and disturb your sleep. I thought to myself, if this is the last time I hold you, I dare not move.

I know I can’t make it “all better” anymore- but maybe you could just rest awhile in mommy’s arms.

Without words, lectures, questions, opinions between us, I hear your strong heartbeat; your breathing slow, your warm body loses its resistance and melts into mine. Yes, just like when you were little before you could talk.

Before we let the words-opinions-lectures get in the way. Before you found me out to be the imperfect being that I am.

Once upon a time, I was the mommy who made it all better, not the mommy who gets it all wrong.

Your need conjured my milk, my love, my comfort…

You awakened my inner movie star. I had, at long last, been discovered. I sang you show tunes and we danced. You squealed with delight. When you were hungry, I nursed you. When you were tired or cranky, I rocked you to sleep. You took naps in my arms and full-time residence in my heart.

You accepted me in ways I couldn’t accept myself. Now you reject me in ways I don’t understand.

So, little girl, rest your pretty head on my shoulder. Take a break from your hurry to grow up, your hurry to leave. I think I’ll take a break from trying to improve, cajole, and advise you.

Remember the perfection we had without even trying- before you found out you would have to leave. Before I started worrying if you have everything you need.

This may not be the last time I hold you close, but I know there will be a last time.

The train is coming for you and you are packing your bags. You have a one-way ticket.

Each time you leave the house you never return completely. Home is becoming more of a layover, instead of the destination, it is for the rest of us.

I know you need to make a home inside of yourself, and your dreams the destination. This, I know, is the only way.

Still, it hurts.

So let me hold you and we can remember a time when I had everything you needed, our perfection restored. We can both pretend we don’t hear that whistle calling you, and my heart isn’t on that track.

 (10 years later)-

More than a decade has passed and we are sharing a glass of wine in the home you now make with your husband, almost 3-year old daughter, and infant son.

We made it to the other side. Because you were brave enough to leave and I found the strength to let you go.

What looked only like a loss to me then… looks different to me now.

With a tender heart, I watch your 3-year old daughter load up her stroller with baby dolls and announce she is going to “work”.

Although I say nothing, I hear that haunting train whistle in the distance-the whistle that will call your precious daughter into her own life. I know what’s coming….who will leave, and whose heart will be on that track.

When the time comes, I hope to hold your hand and wipe your tears. 

I have faith you will find the strength to set her free. Finding that strength inside of yourself, you will give her the gift you never wanted to give and it will break your heart.

Yet, you see mothers who can’t let go; cripple their daughters, and steal their daughter’s chance of claiming a life they can call their own.  

You will know the price those daughters pay is much too high.

So, without martyrdom, but with strength, you will do what needs to be done. And, you will be better for it.

Fashioned from the pieces of your broken heart, you will acquire an expanded heart-one of compassion, wisdom, and grace.

• The compassion of a mother who knows her daughter’s dreams for herself is more important than the dreams she has for her daughter.

• The wisdom of a mother who sees the need her daughter has to do it her way, not as a rejection of her but a declaration of herself.

• The grace of a mother who knows a heart chained is a heart that is never truly hers, but the one she sets free can be hers forever.

Then and only then will you know this: of the many gifts you will give your daughter, after loving her, the gift of letting her go is the hardest gift and the greatest gift you have to give her.

Do you suffer from the Good daughter syndrome? Take the quiz here, it’s free.

 

Here Are 3 Ways The Pain of Your Childhood Can Make You A Better Mother

by Katherine Fabrizio

” I don’t want to mess up my daughter the way my mom messed me up.”

 

Yep, EVERY mother on my psychotherapy couch ( especially the “good” daughter) who has a difficult mother and is now raising a daughter has the worry she will make the same mistakes her mother made and leave her daughter feeling anxious and insecure.

If you are one of those mothers I have good news for you- read on. You can turn straw into gold if you know what to do. It is truly the unexamined dysfunctional childhood that is likely to be repeated.

The old saying, “What we don’t pass back we pass on” holds true. But you might not know, the opposite holds true as well. When you process the pain of your childhood you become a wiser and more compassionate mother.  

When you remember and reflect on how you felt as a child, your awareness can make you more sensitive. Whether through therapy or soul-searching talks with someone close, you’ve taken the time to reflect on and process the pain of your dysfunctional childhood. This kind of reflection yields ninja parenting chops.

That doesn’t mean your home doesn’t look like a madhouse at times. When kids aren’t afraid or neglected all of their feelings are out in the open. This is a good thing. And, because you know what it is like to hurt as a child-

You can see beneath the surface.

You see that…

  1. The quiet, obedient child is not always a happy child. When a child feels despair or shame, she tends to constrict, become quiet, and draw into herself. You know that a child may be overly compliant out of fear, not confidence.
  2. Bad behavior is not always what it seems. The acting out child may be misbehaving because she cannot contain an upsetting feeling, and is working to discharge it or push it away. The out-of-control behavior is sometimes a cry for help. A cry for an adult to help her get control of her impulses or process overwhelming feelings.
  3. It is not necessarily a good thing when your child tries to take care of you. Although it touches your heart when your child shows concern for you-you know no child should feel responsible for her parent’s happiness.

Because of your own painful childhood, you know when you see these outward signs to look more deeply, remain curious, and approach your child with compassion.  Perhaps your greatest gift can be summed up in a word- empathy. Because every child struggles with powerful emotions, even those in functional homes with good mothers. Your empathy makes you a better mother.

At the opposite end of narcissistic and other rigid defenses, which is at the hallmark of dysfunction lies empathetic attunement. You know maintaining an empathetic connection with your child ( no matter her behavior at the moment) paves the way back to good relationship with you. And relationships that are alive, flexible, and loving, keep families functional.

Connection, not perfection, is the key to good mental health and a happy childhood. Even as you discipline your children, you are empathetic to their need for structure, as well as his/her need for an adult to stay in control when doling out the consequences. You can measure how your momentary withdrawal of approval lands with your child. You are careful to invite her back into your good graces as soon as possible rather than shaming and banishing her.

And, when all goes well- you kick back, a smile of delight spreading across your face, and feel that little catch in your throat as it registers deep within you how grateful you are your child feels loved, protected, and cared for.

You know, really know, that the safe loved feeling your child feels… is anything but guaranteed. You work hard to make sure she will never know the pain you’ve felt.

*Bonus-

Not only can you use your childhood pain to inform your parenting today, but when you give your child the love and compassion you never got from your own parents you can start to heal that place within yourself.

If you were the daughter, who took emotional care of mom chances are you are suffering from the “Good daughter” syndrome. To find out-go here.

 

Will you raise your children differently? Let me know in the comments.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you process the pain of your childhood you become a wiser and more compassionate mother. Click To Tweet Connection, not perfection, is the key to good mental health and a happy childhood. Click To Tweet Not only can you use your childhood pain to inform your parenting today, but when you give to your child the love and compassion you never got from your own parents you can start to heal that place within yourself. Click To Tweet
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