You were always just right.

Reflection from the Trenches

I hesitated to share this, mostly because it’s intimate and was meant for her, but I took out the more personal parts. I just came out of a session where I mention this letter that I actually did give my daughter just a couple weeks ago. Again, this is not the full letter, but I’m hoping you’ll see what I was trying to communicate to her—what it has to do with those last few posts: How will you know? and Perceiving a Higher Path

Photo by John Jennings on Unsplash

Dear Red, 

…

You may not remember well what our relationship was like when you were young. We were together most of the time and we had lots of fun. You were always precocious and it always blew me away that you were my child. It was such a joy to watch you grow and develop and become. There were many years where you trusted me to care for you and keep you safe. I know I did things that damaged that trust.

I want to acknowledge that I made so many mistakes parenting you through adolescence. I was determined to do your teenage years right, and I blew it often. I was committed to ensuring you didn’t feel controlled, yet I did so many things that communicated the opposite. I sure hope you know that everything I did was because I love you and wanted to protect you. 

…

I apologize for every action I took out of fear. There were lots of them these past few years. I’ve learned so much from being your mom. You may not see it but I’ve grown tremendously and I’m not afraid anymore. I believe in you. I believe in me. I believe in our family. I’m grateful for these last few years–for you, for this journey with you. You brought me the least expected thing and it tested me like nothing else ever has. I failed often. I’m not used to that. It was so incredibly humbling. I needed it. 

I’m learning that parenting is like this for most people. At least the ones who think lots about it and are desperate to do it right. Our kids will teach us much about ourselves and our hang-ups. I want you to know that most of my coaching revolves around “letting go.” Letting go of the outcomes the adults think are best for our kids, letting go of the vision we’re attached to and letting our kids be, appreciating who they are rather than forcing them to be who we want them to be. Trusting. My biggest parenting mistakes were fear-based and if I could go back, I’d do so much more trusting. 

I’m sorry that even recent conversations have gone the way they have. I do want you to know that it’s because I respect you and don’t think you need coddled. I think you have the capacity to have adult conversations with people who disagree with you. You’ve had that capacity for years now. You’re a better thinker and communicator than most adults I know and I’m impressed with your tenacity to advocate for what you think is right.  

…

I hope you know that when I look at you, I see a competent, thoughtful, generous human whose company I find very enjoyable. Despite all my parenting mistakes, you turned out just right. (In fact, you were always just right. I apologize for everything I ever did that communicated anything different.) I have lots of curiosity about your future and who you’re becoming. I think you’re an amazing human with such incredible capacity for empathy and for living a good life true to yourself. I’m grateful for you, and I will always love you beyond what it is possible for you to understand, beyond what is possible for anyone who hasn’t born a child to understand. 

Thank you for being who you are. You’ve made me who I am. You’re my greatest gift, and my greatest lesson. I know I’m so lucky to have you in my life.

Working on another essay, digging deeper into the whole Abraham and Isaac thing, and this will support understanding of that, methinks. What I hope this communicated: I’m “letting her go”. I have extreme faith in her. I’m separating my work from hers. I’m modeling taking responsibility and being human, and I’m expressing gratitude for all the learning she brought to me.

I found evidence that she’d read this letter (though she never said a word,) and I’m not feeling that distance anymore that I describe in Third Dream’s a Charm. I’d go so far as to say that there’s a new level of ease between us. I’d love to be able to have those conversations now, the ones where I get to prove I can just be curious about how the identity is going, but it’s not the right time for them. I keep getting the nudge to not. I lost the privilege to be that to her, and that’s something I have to live with.

So I just continue to delight in her, laugh as often as possible—which is often, invite her company but not insist on it, and relish the mystery of who she really is becoming.

And always remember how lucky I am to still have her in my life!