The Plan (and how I feel about it...)

reflections along the way

I’m actually experiencing less of it than I thought I would: ambivalence. Mixed feelings. I almost feel like there should be more… yep, I’m rather surprised at the absence of fear that I anticipated would strike my heart when this news came, the lack of worry that once seemed inevitable. I’m feeling pretty chill, even in the excited camp. 

“About what?” I hear you asking. Well, my daughter has an actual plan now and when she makes a plan, she becomes single-minded (even though things don’t always go as planned. In Strengthsfinder language, we’d call this tendency: “Activator” and my girl definitely inherited this one from her mother.)

Here’s what I know of The Plan: she’s got committed roommates, they’ve determined their budget, and they’re mapping a timeline for the move back to that city we left in 2020 with my kid needing to be there by the last week of June, just following her 19th birthday. This would be the place where the two people she’d say she’s closest with, her best friend and “boyfriend”—who are both trans-identified—live.

Bestie has been on T for two years now, after a year on PBs. She also had a double mastectomy last summer. To my knowledge, the lovely young woman that my daughter refers to as her boyfriend has not embarked on any medicalization, and presents very feminine. With her long blond hair, tasteful make-up, and shape-enhancing clothing choices, no one could guess by appearance that she believes she’s actually a boy. 

Neither of these two young women will be living with my daughter according to The Plan. I think she hoped and thought they’d want to grow up as quickly as she herself is driven to. I know she was disappointed and felt hurt when they emphatically declined her invitation, claiming fragility, though not in so many words. 

So there is some definite relief there. Instead of these two with whom she communicates regularly (usually several times a week through conferencing apps) one of her future roommates will be a girl my daughter has been friends with since middle school who identifies as non-binary. The other I don’t know, but my daughter uses feminine pronouns to refer to her, and the picture she shared with me would indicate that roommate #2  is indeed a girl. 

My daughter has had an strong drive for independence since she was quite young and from my vantage point, the fragility story fits her about as well as Cinderella’s glass slipper fit her stepsisters. She’s navigated this surprisingly adeptly, letting her claimed social anxiety inhibit her only so much–not enough to suppress her inclination toward autonomy and independence (she has a job and a car) but enough to keep any friendly suitors at a distance (she’s got co-workers not friends.) 

It’s also been enough to create some crankiness of which her parents are the target. I refuse to take it personally. Okay, not always. I sometimes let my feelings get hurt, but I recover much more quickly these days when I check my story and remind myself she’s not only biologically driven to assert her independence but it’s also her psychic inheritance–I moved out when I was 17, not very skilled but scrappy, and soon after jetted off to SoCal, a thousand miles from my family, where I lived for the next decade. She’s stuck around longer than I did. 

My daughter likes to project any cause of her remaining dependence onto us implying we control her life, but I don’t let her. My story and what I want my voice in her head to whisper is, “You got this.” And also, “but if it all goes to shit, we’ll get to you as quickly as we can (7 hours from us by car) and our roof can always be your roof too.” 

So rather than fearful, I find myself mostly excited for her. She is so clearly craving this initiatory experience; and she needs to recognize what really goes into adulting. I’m pretty sure she’s got some painful lessons ahead of her, but also the exhilarating freedom of separating from her parents and living life solely on her terms. Not that we direct her life now, but she bristles even at our curiosity about her work schedule. 

She’s been researching independence for years; I find it rather adorable. Her favorite influencers these days provide tips and hacks for how to find the best, most affordable apartments, how to determine a budget and how to calculate the amount one should save before making the launch, how to job hunt from another city… (Though she’s starting to recognize the wisdom in just transferring store locations.) She’s also recognizing that sometimes her ideals and what’s practical and realistic are incompatible; already learning some of life’s difficult lessons…

I’m also excited for us. While she can be so lovely and I enjoy spending time with her when she’s in the mood to grace me with her presence, she can also be difficult to be around—mostly when she’s feeling even the slightest hint of her autonomy being threatened. Honestly, she’s pretty great as long as she’s being treated like one would an adult friend, but she has zero tolerance for anything that feels like parenting. It’s just so clear that it’s time for this. I’d be perfectly fine if it’s temporary and she decides multi-generational living is for her, but I’d prefer if she makes that decision with some appreciation of what it really means to be in community.  

And I’m grateful that my son’s woke girlfriend won’t feel so uncomfortable now being in our home, but even more so that my son will be less stressed with this scenario. He says his girlfriend is “passionate” about her views. When I asked which views, he listed “privilege” and “transgender rights” but couldn’t explain what either term really means; he’s evidently less passionate about these topics but clearly into her. I said I’d really like it if we could more easily discuss different worldviews, and he said, “Worldviews? I like that. That’s a good way to think about it.” 

And frankly, I could use an office. I’m now imagining how lovely it would be to have a guest room that doubles as my work space. I could get a comfortable chair that my back tolerates better, and maybe have a desk. I’m fantasizing about the room she currently inhabits being clean and orderly and having somewhere private to offer guests as sleeping quarters. Is this what healthy individuation feels like? I don’t know, but I am appreciating the absence of drama. 

There might be more to The Plan. She’s indicated she’s got other things on her agenda once she’s settled in. When I expressed curiosity, she said something about a roadtrip up the coast. Maybe she’s being evasive? It’s hard to say. She wasn’t very receptive to the idea of us helping her move, and when I started trying to talk to her about visiting–us there, her here, all of us at other destinations–she went to that irritable place, quickly asserting her desire to be free of our demands on her schedule. Her dad escalated into a commanding tone (as he does when his feelings get hurt) but I scrambled to reposition and come at it more respectfully. She quickly softened and seemed less troubled about seeing me every couple of months, and we coordinated our calendars through Thanksgiving. Christmas is still undecided. 

When I check in with myself, fear is not nearly as present as I thought it might be. I can’t imagine it’s more than any mother might experience about her oldest child leaving home to live in a different state. Maybe less even? I think I’ve been preparing myself for this and we’ve practiced it with her solo road trips and leaving her home alone (she often called this “living the dream”) a number of times throughout her adolescence. She’s been at her job for over a year now, she makes payments on a car, she’s thoughtful about her spending and usually has a good cushion in her bank account, she’s gradually taking on her bills and knows there’s a few more to be transferred from us to her. 

If medicalization is part of The Plan, would feeling the fear of that right now change anything? What more could I do to stop it? I guess I could threaten our connection; I think this works for some, but I don’t think it would work with my kid. Pretty sure she’d lose all respect for me and quickly estrange herself, confused that the stories she’s fed about parents like us actually turned out to be “true.” Or the fear would work and she’d stay here, resentful, acting out in other ways, punishing me with her contempt. This doesn’t mean my way is the “right way.” As I’ve said before, you’re the expert on your family’s situation and I don’t believe in the existence of a “right way.” I do encourage being clear on what you’re trying to accomplish and being honest with yourself about whether what you’re doing is working to get you to your goal.  

I have to admit I’m really grateful that we’ve had the past, gosh, coming up on four years to get to this place. I’m quite certain that if she had dropped the bombshell on me as a young adult who’d already flown the coop, I would not be navigating very gracefully (more like the mess I was in the months following the revelation but this time with no viable recourse) and likely doing some damage–to our relationship, my health, the health of my family. But, more like the passing of my father and two of my siblings, I had plenty of time before the event to process my grief and make peace; it still hurt like hell each time it happened, but the intense emotions passed, and life continued. Life. Humans. What a trip it all is, eh?

Plus, I really think she’s got this. I hope she keeps me in the loop. More importantly, I hope she knows I have faith in her. That whatever life throws her way, whatever stupid choices she makes (because don’t we all make them?) there’s always redemption. Life continues—if we believe it does, if that’s our story. I think she’s more prepared to take on the world than I was at her age, to be honest. She’s definitely scrappy and when she decides to tap into that aspect of herself, that girl makes shit happen. I’m pretty satisfied with what I’ve made of my life. I hope I’m still around to see what her life looks like when she’s my age, but if not, I feel pretty good about her chances of creating satisfaction and meaning. She’s my kid after all. What that looks like and how she’ll get there, that’s the great unknown, isn’t it? 

Here we go…