Motherhood

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What to Do if Your Daughter Hates You

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What to Do if Your Daughter Hates You

Divorce is horrible. And unfortunately, it's even more terrible for our children. This week, one of my students posted on my online forum asking for help. Her tween daughter is unhappy which means she is unhappy. My student is newly divorced and their entire lives have been upended. Once having lived in the expansive stretch of a McMansion, now living in a tiny two-room apartment. Her daughter complains about the apartment, the clothes, the new life. The mom feels guilty and ashamed and is grasping for anything she can do to help her daughter feel safe. Feel loved. Feel like it's all going to be okay.

I remember what this was like. I remember that first year, living in my little house. I remember the tears, night after night, as I tried to put my inconsolable daughter to bed. I remember her fury and her heartbreak.

"You've stolen my happiness," she told me. 

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A Mother's Loss

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A Mother's Loss

It happened again.

I watched my daughter get out of the car, sling her backpack over her shoulder and run after some friends. I watched as she crossed the busy street to the inner sanctum of junior high. She was laughing, face to the sky, hair flying in the wind, so beautiful that time seemed to stand still just for her.

I sat in my car watching, waiting for her to look back in my direction, if even for a second. 

She did. She always does. A smile and a secret wave saying, "Bye, I love you."

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The House That Built Me

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The House That Built Me

I'm sitting on the cold terra cotta tile floor. My finger tracing grey squares of gritty grout. The sun's warmth opens all the white lilies that line the deck, not strong enough, even on the sultriest of days, to bring this floor to even a corpse-like temperature. Its cold seeps through my jeans now and I laugh through tears. Thinking of how many times I've cursed that cold tile. Sucking the life force out of my feet for the past five winters. And even so, how I remained barefoot most of the year.

This beautiful floor. The hardness of it is highlighted by our quiet echoed conversation. Its unwillingness to bend or comfort. It had a job to do and it didn't get caught up in softening a blow to a foot or to a head. It was unconcerned with offering warmth or pliability. 

It held this house together. And it kept us suspended and supported in this place.

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What We Touch

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What We Touch

I am holding a beautiful Wedgewood porcelain tea pot. 

I found it high up and way in the back of the kitchen cabinet during my move.

This beautiful thing.

I don't know its history. When it was purchased. Who it served.

I don't know if it holds happy memories. Or terrible ones. I don't know if it held hopes and dreams of beautiful dinner parties. Or if it has served an army of broken hearts, mistrusts and betrayals.

I only know that it has been carefully stored. And that it is not mine. 

And that I am sure it has stories to tell.

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Independence Day

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Independence Day

Last winter, my heart was broken. Someone I loved very much walked out of my life. Out of my daughter's life. 

He gave no reason. 

He just bailed.

And for months after, I tried to heal. I tried to forgive. I tried to forget.

I tried to pick up the pieces of my heart and scotch-tape them back together.

My chest literally hurt. My rib cage ached. I felt haunted by the Ghost of Relationships Past. Everything I did. Everywhere I went. He was there. 

I came to realize this heavy brick on my sternum was grief. 

And that it is normal.

And that it sucks.

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My Daughter Wants A New Mom

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In 2011, a few years into single-motherhood, my daughter (9 years old at the time) told me that she didn’t want me to be her mom anymore. This post was written late one night during one of the worst times of my life. Here’s the original post. Scroll down to see my update, written 12 years later.