Last night I let my own pain obscure my daughter’s, and that both surprised and frightened me. I was that daughter, lived that life, and vowed never to replicate it. I vowed to be a different mother than the one I had, more empathic, more attuned, more attentive, less hurtful, and I know I am succeeding. Still, I wonder how much of her, of that life, that damage, is inherent in who I am.
Last night I reacted to my daughter’s acknowledgement of her own pain, her confusion about it, cloaked in my own. I dismissed her pain, devalued it, and as result her needs were not properly met. I put her to bed in haste, thwarted her attempts to linger there in my embrace, and went off to meet the remaining demands of my evening. I was insensitive, abrupt. It was not until I drove home from my mother’s, hours later, emotionally exhausted, that I realized the significance of what I had done. The thought of my daughter, her uncomforted heart, wrenched my own, and the tears fell freely until I reached home. Once there, I climbed the stairs to her room, knelt by her bedside and stroked her hair. I felt selfish wishing she would awaken so I could make things right. I knew I was doing this more for me than for her. The words “I’m sorry” played over and over, a mantra, and a few more silent tears dotted her blanket. She did awake, and I held her for awhile as her breathing slowed back into sleep. When she awoke this morning, I did not ask her if she remembered last night, my arms around her, my apology, my attempt at mending, care. I wonder if it matters.
I need my children to know how immensely they are loved, and that their needs will always be met. I need them to feel it in a way that I didn’t, still don’t always, for whatever reason. I need it for them as much as for myself. To that end, that process, I need to be more mindful, more attuned. Maybe that also means being more honest about my own vulnerabilities, and not trying to hide them from my family. All I know is that I cannot abide my reaction, or lack thereof, in response to my daughter’s pain, nor can I abide the cloak that obscured my vision. I will be honest. Moments like that terrorize me. I will not become my mother. I will not.
