The Bad Guy

reflection along the way

We had another one of “those conversations” Wednesday night. It’s been such a long time–I think the longest we’ve gone, maybe. Before I share how it went, some context: 

For awhile now, I’ve sensed the dynamic between my girl and me shifting. She’s been pricklier and more distant. She’s also been hyper vigilant when it comes to my behavior, jumping to the “defense” of others if I say anything that could be somehow perceived as critical, regardless of the context. If anything doesn’t go her way, it is somehow my fault. ←I recognize this pattern as it’s one I’ve been guilty of in earlier iterations of me. There was a time when I could make everything my husband’s fault, even if he was far removed from whatever circumstance I was seeking to pin responsibility on him for. I’m so grateful now that I worked to reprogram myself to stop doing this; I don’t know what I’d do without the strong relationship he and I have achieved through this difficult circumstance. Recognizing how our loved ones become the target of our aggression, I’ve sometimes comforted myself with the thought of, “oh, I’m the safest person in her life. That’s why she projects so much onto me.” 

I think this awareness of the widening gap led to me feeling some sadness and agitation. Using mindfulness strategies, I turned toward these uncomfortable feelings, bringing them up to consciousness and asking myself what they were demanding of me. What seemed immediately clear was that some vulnerable communication with my daughter was needed before she executes her flight from the nest, moving back into the welcoming embrace of her longterm trans community. I waited patiently knowing I needed more clarity to proceed. What was this conversation to be about, specifically? 

Then another one of those situations happened Wednesday night at dinner. A perceived altercation to be added to the mounting evidence my daughter has been vigilantly collecting; her superpower hyperfocus pointed at my flaws these days. Hours later when I went to tell her good night, she was the one who was agitated, clearly having spent the time since dinner reflecting–stewing is probably more accurate–on this interaction we’d had at dinner that hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal in the moment. I think subconsciously, I recognized her odd demeanor when she opened her bedroom door to me, but it wasn’t until my own restless night of reflection and journaling the next morning, that I had my, “oh, yes of course. It all makes sense” moment. 

I attempted to apologize for my less-than-impeccable behavior. (Thanks for tolerating a bit of sarcasm here. I’ve worked hard to avoid this in dialogue with her, though I’m a little embarrassed to confess that I didn’t pull off a snark-free conversation; it was definitely minimal compared to conversations from the dark days.) It seemed like the opportunity for the vulnerable communication had arrived, and my goal was to convey my mixed feelings: I’m so proud of and happy for you, and I’m going to miss you. I’m so grateful for how much I’ve learned and grown through all of this, and I’m also sad that our relationship has become so not what I wanted for us. I recognize the moments that I fucked up in parenting you and I’ve worked hard to become the parent I wish I’d been then. 

I wanted to make sure that when she moved, she’d heard me recently say how important she is to me, how I want a better, deeper relationship as two adults who respect and love each other. I wanted her to hear me say that I’ve only ever done my very best as her mom and that’s what I’ll continue to do. 

I said all these things. Much more was also said. It soon became clear that she continues to cling to the story of who she needs me to be: the bad guy. She insisted my views of the situation are “political.” She put words in my mouth and painted a picture of a salivating TERF eagerly calling for the genocide of trans people. This gave me the opportunity to assert that I’m not on a side–that I made a conscious choice to not be on the opposite side as my child in a war. But of course, that’s not enough. I need to be on her side. “I’m always on your side,” I said, “even when we disagree.” 

She accused me of being in an information bubble, only seeing what I want to see. Ironic isn’t it? I know she’s not gaslighting me intentionally. This gave me the opportunity to express how not being on “a side” helps me to have a different, broader perspective and how important this is to me; how deeply invested I am in making sense of what’s happening with my kid and in the culture; in ensuring the very best possible care for people suffering with what she’s going through.

Along the way, I asked what she needs from me to consider working toward a deeper, healthier relationship. Among other things, she insisted I must see her how she “wants to be seen.” After some unproductive back and forth with me probing about how that works, I explained again how impossible this is, but assured her that I respect her as an adult capable of making the best decisions for her future and her health, even if we disagree. Not enough. So I clarified, “you’d prefer me to lie to you?”

“Sometimes.”

“That I can’t do.” I told her I respect her too much, and so will treat her like I would treat any capable adult because that’s what she is. I will honor her with honesty and I will respect her belief system and her decisions. I would hope she could do the same for me. She was clear that she could not. 

The conversation was long and exhausting. We both cried at various points. She asked me to leave numerous times and I didn’t honor her requests, desperate as I was to communicate what I’d set out to share with her. 

So often throughout the conversation, I thought, “how do we always end up in this same place?” She read my mind and it became another accusation. 

I had a restless night, as you can imagine. Rehashing, trying to make sense of why it always goes south when I’m so determined not to get baited. It hit me the next morning; the demeanor when she opened her bedroom door to me and what it meant. That I’d seen it before; a bit of deja vu. I had indeed fell for the bait, though I’d done it to myself. I’d even put the worm on the hook during the earlier altercation–given her something to ruminate about and add to her mental evidence file of my poor character.

The last time this happened, things went really, really poorly. There are two infamous events when Mom totally lost her shit in our home, and the last time (two years ago) was a similar situation. That was incredibly painful, and I learned a ton and have done so much work since then, but it had been instigated in a similar fashion. I’d say I was less attuned to my own inner wisdom then, but I was pretty attuned to her and knew her pain was not authentic; that she had totally baited me–and it had totally worked. 

Now I want to be clear that I don’t think she’s savvy enough to grasp what she’s doing. She’s a clever girl, but she’s still a child just doing her best to get through a really painful experience. I am not angry with her or harboring any hard feelings about this. I feel only compassion for my beautiful, sensitive girl trying to navigate this strange, strange world we live in, and a deep painful sadness that it seems to be working to tear her away from me and she doesn’t know how to resist it. 

And interestingly enough–that previous scary blow-up (not physically violent, but oh the emotional erraticism! Is that a word?) just might have been…yes, I think so, the true beginning of my own shift. My “bottom” if you will, that I hit and then finally could “perceive a higher path” as Jessie would say. The moment I knew–well it took another couple weeks of hanging out in my escape complex with my fantasies about fleeing, trying to convince myself my family would be better off without me–so the moment that led to the understanding of just where we were and what we were dealing with. The radical acceptance I’d need to truly start changing my experience; I clearly had plenty of my own work to do. I committed around then to doing the inner work and to keeping my family together. 

I want to be clear that I don’t consider this most recent conversation a fail. Could it have gone better? Hell yes; it would seem messy is part of the deal. But I said all the things I think I needed to say and this was important to honor my own needs and my integrity. Did she hear me? Did the words land? It’s too difficult for her to explore who she thinks I am right now. To not imagine me as the bad guy means that I may have some legitimate points, that I actually do care deeply about her health and her future and have put in the effort to understand as best I can, to try to make as much sense of her experience as possible. This would mean she’d have to take a closer look, consider other angles, allow the possibility that she may be on a dangerous path. Too painful. Too hard. She’s got too much invested, has put all her eggs in this basket; she’s systematically been “burning the ships”. Where would she retreat to? 

But hopefully the seeds I’ve planted have taken root, even just the tiniest little baby roots in her psyche; maybe they’ll keep her safe even a little bit longer as she adjusts to adulting and recognizes how much more there is to Life, new tasks and people consuming her time and attention, the need to figure out how to do all that needs to happen just to get by. She seems pretty determined to proceed with her “self-actualization” as she called it. (gut-punch) I’m crossing my fingers that by the time she comes up for breath after this move, this obsession will have faded, even just a little. I didn’t used to be a patient person–another gift of this “box of darkness” as the poet, Mary Oliver, might say. I won’t hold my breath or let this wish deter me from living my own life; I won’t let it consume me and rob me of joy. 

Yet, It seems I’ve returned to a similar place in my heart (mind?) as I was in last year around this time, the 18th birthday looming. From Agents of Futility: 

what’s on my mind right now is, have I done all I could? Is there anything left to say? Have I missed anything? Could I still snap her out of this? Did I protect the pathway home and for her to reclaim womanhood? Have I…could I…did I…?

Ah, this universal human experience of suffering. This time, it’s different though. Oh! I’m having a realization thanks to a client call yesterday… That Spring seems to bring it every year. This is Year 5 of this time of year bringing the test of pain. Year 1, it landed and scared the shit out of me. Year 2, it felt like it was going to rip my heart out of my chest and that sensation lasted for months in my body. Year 3, that scary blow up at my kids followed by two weeks of the flee fantasy. Year 4, I was doing much better, but still found myself gripped with fear and questioning myself and my parenting, as the quote above illustrates. This year, I had a weepy day yesterday, but my practices of tuning in and caring for myself, knowing the feelings are inevitable and to be honored, understanding and accepting what’s not in my control, clarity in my values and what it means to be in integrity have all kept me from feeling like I was falling off a cliff. Oh, and the words of Kristin Neff: sometimes, the “only refuge is self-compassion.” 

This circumstance has also led me to be better resourced–in comforting relationship with other humans. I used to feel so completely alone and separate; only me to figure out how to get through this. But client conversations yesterday reminded me how many mamas are in this together now, knowing we can’t expect our children to provide for our need to be seen and appreciated. Sometimes mothering is a “shit job”; doing the hardest work on the planet for no appreciation—even contempt—from those we serve. We can seek comfort among each other. 

And my husband. I decided to make a practice of loving him and our relationship is now my strongest source of solace. Ah, this is how this works! This is the power of connection and vulnerability, of having a village and a partner that is “my person.” Life will keep throwing painful things in my path, but I’ve learned where real strength comes from: being resourced in relationship. I sought his strong arms often yesterday, letting his words and presence sooth me, grateful for his proximity/availability that these strange post pandemic times afford.  

Hmm. One thing we do in the online community is practice changing the question from “Why is this happening to me?” to “What am I meant to learn from this?” This Spring’s test may have been to show me how much growth and awareness has happened. How my intentional practices have grounded me. It may also have been meant to humble me and remind me I’m still vulnerable to intense discomfort; I can still backslide and get caught up in my thoughts, ruminating and spiraling into despair. What a wild ride! I like knowing I get to choose the meaning I assign to the lows. That’s where my agency lies. It’s still Spring, the test is still in motion, there’s more to come–

This took an unexpected turn. Why am I ever surprised when I end up in such a different place than I intended? If I’ve learned anything, it’s that Life can get turned upside down and look completely different a year from now, and I’m grateful to count adaptability among my strengths. 

One more thing about the conversation…

While it seems my daughter is still very stuck in her rigid worldview and clinging to her plans for her future “as a man” I’m glad I didn’t spend the last couple of years arguing with her, that instead I sought to seize every possible moment of connection (Key word: sought. I’m sure I missed as many as I seized.) I spoke my truth but didn’t impose it on her. I tried to convey confidence in her, and I went about learning more about me and working toward wholeness. I’ve had a really good couple of years with countless joyful moments (and painful ones; I’ve learned that I can contain both and the contrast is what makes up the richness.) I’m glad I didn’t sacrifice those moments to fear and despair or diminish them to avoid disappointment. I’m glad I didn’t get stuck in judging my worth or success according to her identity status–or even her happiness.  I really don’t think that would have done much to change her mind. We would have arrived at this same place but with the tragic loss of all that was wonderful over the last few years.

So here we are, in another (Spring) moment that will test (and strengthen) my new practices, discovered and honed through the invitation of this oh-so destabilizing circumstance. Humans. This experience. It’s wild and exhilarating. I’d even go so far as to say, it’s worth being my own daughter’s “bad guy.”