My daughter, for her own privacy shall remain nameless here. Her name is beautiful, and no other pseudonym could ever suit her.
She is ten, now, and I watch with great anxiety and trepidation as she enters late adolescence, nears young ladyhood. Her dreams are expanding, her hopes evolving. But while, when she was younger, all the world was her friend and there wasn’t a star out of reach, she now seems to be shrinking…her circle of friends tightening, and I can see the clouds of self doubt forming in her eyes as she becomes more and more aware of her place in things. I see her floundering with her confidence, her sense of who she is. It affects her relationships, her grades, her beautiful smile. A natural phase of development, I know. She’ll get through it, I know. She’ll move on and past and come into her own, I know. I just…I just want to pick her up and take her there, past the struggles and pain. And I can’t, I know. But I so badly want to tell her….
My Dearest Daughter,
From the moment I pulled you from the garbage dumpster (haha!) and first looked upon you as my own I was, hideous as you were, dazzled. Your eyes, in just the right light, sparkled with the deepest, darkest blue, and staring into them I could see the vast expanse of the universe from which you came to me. I was spellbound, humbled by the eternity reflected in your gaze.
It was Halloween weekend, when you came to me, and I was still so young and frightened to be a mother again, so soon after your brother. A night owl, I sat in my hospital room each night after he and Daddy had left to go home. I so badly wanted to pack you up and go with them. The television was playing nothing but The Exorcist and The Blair Witch Project, and, terrified, I held you tight to my chest and waited out the nights. I remember shaking my head at the irony. My tiny daughter in my arms, mine to love and protect and help to feel safe in this enormous world, and it was you that gave me comfort. You were the safe harbor in my moments of fear. Finally I turned off the television and, leaving the light on, placed you next to me and cradled your sleeping body until I dozed off. I don’t remember falling asleep, or the nurse removing you from my arms and placing you in the crib beside my bed. I only remember feeling…safe…with you lying next to me.
It didn’t take long to know you were special. Ugly as you were as a newborn, with your red, squished-up-potato-bug-face, you were enchanting. The moment your deep eyes could focus on the world around you you stared and contemplated, always with a look of serious analysis. Time passed, not too much, and you blossomed. Your deep agate blue eyes softened, becoming wide and hazel, and you turned them to people. Your all-knowing gaze made grown, capable adults feel small, exposed, yet somehow…mesmerized. You had the keys to the universe, to the meaning of life. People and animals alike were drawn to you, as if by some invisible force…you were this powerful, pocket sized celestial body around which all others dreamed of orbiting. You were two years old, and I wanted to be just like you when I grew up.
All of my life with you I have wanted only one thing: to give to you a world full of love and happiness and peace in which to live and follow your dreams; a world in which everyone treats you with kindness and respect; a world in which you would feel confident to freely express your inner truth without fear of rejection or failure. And that is not reality, I know. The world in which we dwell can be beautiful and loving and happy. But it can as well be cruel and terrifying. I have known that I would one day have to release you into that world, that you would grow up and need to forge your own path through the regions of darkness and light. I have dreaded that day, and held tight to your youth, your childhood and innocence. I thought I had a few more years with you, to protect and prepare you. You are only ten years old. Ten was still so young when I was there. Ten was still climbing trees and jumping rope on the playground and not caring about my hair and clothes. But that was my ten. Your ten is so much more complicated, so much more grown up. Your ten is more like my twelve. It was an unexpected difference, and I don’t think I was ready for it. You’re my child, my baby, the tiny thing I cradled in my arms and cried over in joy and fear and complete…completion. Letting go to watch you move on your way is terrifying. You have no idea how much restraint it requires for me to not remind you over and over to do your homework, to not set on fire the bullies in your school that make you cry. I never want you to hurt, and yet, I know you must, in order to grow and learn and succeed. It’s part of the process, and as much as I wish you could skip over the painful aspects of actualizing your potential, I can’t. And that causes my heart to ache so agonizingly.
But. My heart also cries for joy. Because as frightening as this moment is for me, as your (often over protective and slightly micro-managing) mother, it is also exciting to behold. Each day your wings unfold and stretch just a little bit further as you come into your own. Each day your steps become more assured. Your inner strength and wisdom radiates from every part of you. You are still magnetic, still that powerful entity around which so many others revolve.
I have faith in you, Daughter. I have faith in your intelligence, your grace, your wisdom and strength. It was there the day you were born, it is there now, at ten, as you struggle with the pressures of adolescence, and it will be there when you are grown, a mother yourself. I know that you will navigate through life, learn lessons through pain and joy and evolve into the beautiful, powerful woman you are meant to become.
I believe in you.
I love you.
And so I’m letting you go.
Exudation 
pee said,
March 16, 2010 at 1:38 am
10 years old has become way too old for a 10 year old to have to experience. Of course I felt the same way with my children and they have navigated their way through the ups and downs of life…the beautiful and the ugly. And yet they still have a long way to go…as do you (being as you know you are the same age as my children). We all are just on different phases of our journey.
You have reason to worry and reason to rejoice. The good news is that in the end they do grow up and get past those things that threaten to take them down. It is scary to be where your daughter is right now. Now, if ever before, is when she needs you. You are not ready to let her go yet, but I know what you meant when you said that. Now is the time when you need to step back in the shadows and silently watch and when necessary guide her gently…very gently…so that she thinks she handled things herself in a grown up way. And is many ways she did, with a little help from a friend. Even when she is gone from your home you will let go once again but one day you will realize that you really never let go. You just stepped back further into the shadows always ready to step back into the light when she asks for your help. And that asking is the difference between adolescence and adulthood.
Never stop believing in her. Never stop loving her or letting her know how much you love her…especially when she feels she has failed you and needs your love more than ever. And let go as long as you know when it is time to step back into the light before you once again recede into the shadows.
Deb said,
March 16, 2010 at 11:41 am
Being 10. The number doesn’t even begin to reflect the huge spectrum of differences and perspectives at that age.
At this moment, I have two ten year olds in my extended family.
One has blossomed physically, suddenly, into a seemingly early and unexpected puberty. On the outside, she is tall, wears my shoe size, and her new middle school ring is too big for my finger! She has a figure that she appears ( for now) to be unconcerned with, but will undoubtedly cause her parents lots of concern!!
Inside, she’s a fun little kid. Goofy, endearing, interested in nintendo and writing fantasy stories, and makes great friends with the boys because her interests and sense of humor seem lost with a lot of the girls her age, and has been that way since Kindergarten. She is truly priceless. Her shyness only comes out through the giddiness and sillyness when an adult shes not comfortable with speaks to her. Then she draws in, pretending to be a cat, or whatever else.
So the overwhelming-ness of being 10 shows.
My other 10 year old is in many ways opposite. Tiny, fragile on the outside. A rather narrow view of what is right and acceptable regarding her peers and relationships. Into fashion, her mom struggles to keep her up with the name-branders and the name-labelers. .
She is funny, a great little actor who puts on mini-plays for us and we die laughing. But the overwhelming-ness of being 10 is just under the surface, too. Sensitive, afraid of the dark, and not really ready to spend the night at her Aunt Debbie’s or anywhere yet.
Crumbling at criticism ( does that ever go away?) she becomes that small child who would grab a blanket and hide from whatever is making her feel bad.
This is kind of what I remember about being 10. The differences between the girls at school..Fun little kids, some of them, and crazy, haughty others who would play a game I have never played to this day- ” let’s be friends with so and so today and tell so and so we don’t like them.”
Where in the world does that all come from?
I don’t know for sure. But I do know that your precious 10 year old has something going for her that the others, including myself, will never have.
A mom who, right down to the core of her being, sees and feels her kids hearts. A mom who may be overprotective and a bit micro-managing, but in such a way that they won’t really know it! And the whole problem is that in the next few years, so much will change, and the fear and amazement of all that makes like incredibly challenging. Kid? Teen? Growing up?? yikes!
But you will guide her in the best way you know how.
And through all the angst and arguing that will happen, the core will be there. What I think is that when a kid knows that a parent isn’t trying to completely mold them into “something” they get through the rough times with a better respect for that kind of thinking.
They know, even when they don’t dare show it.
Yes, step into the shadows, but not too far. It takes a long long time to really do that, and even then you come leaping out when needed or sadly, wishing to leap out and instead holding it into reserve, when not needed.
have faith. It will get you through. My daughter has been on her own, home, back and forth over the last 10 years.
But if there is one thing she knows, and totally accepts, is that we have found that peaceful and comfortable place where we can see mistakes, ( hers and ours) and go past them to a place where whatever happens in her life is a product of her own choices.
It takes a long time to get there, so in the meantime, keep up that behind-the-scenes managing.. she will learn from it and take that along in life. You’ll see it in ways you never imagined, I guarantee it!
Bounette said,
April 6, 2010 at 2:12 pm
Beautifully said,
Don’t let go though. Never let go. I am also said to be, by my children, over protective. I never want them out of sight. Not because I don’t trust them. I trust who they are. I just don’t want harm to come their way and not know how to manage outof it. It is sooooo scary, the thought that I cant’ walk them through all the things that may come their way. I too know that, somewhat, letting go, has to be done. But to see them grow up is a beautiful lthingyet so scary.
I feel you K!