Forgotten
I’ve forgotten how closely she watches me.
Sometimes it’s difficult to remember when she’s engrossed in a book or staring at a movie. It’s difficult to remember when she’s hunched over her Legos, brows furrowed as she figures out the best combination of bricks to make the structure she sees in her mind take shape in this world. It’s difficult to remember when she’s determined to do things her own way, in her own time.
But every now and then life provides us the jolt we don’t know we need. For me, it came the day my daughter padded into the bathroom where I was getting ready and stepped on the scale.
I was stunned.
Why does my eight year-old care what she weighs? Why does she think this is something she needs to know? And then I remembered – I step on the scale every day. It never crossed my mind that she watches me do it, deciding this something we do.
There’s nothing wrong with checking your weight, of course. But I had to stop and consider whether all points of this scenario are in balance. Are the messages I’m sending about health and food and weight management and body image the ones I want my daughter to learn?
It came again when she handed me a tiny yellow note with a picture of herself crying – crying – and a caption that clearly communicated her feelings. She was feeling unloved.
I was horrified.
What kind of mother am I? How can this girl who is the very air I breathe not know how deeply and completely I love her. How could she possibly feel like this?
It was a bad evening, truth be told. We had a nasty meltdown – both of us – over a homework assignment. It was the perfect shitstorm of all the things we both are and do colliding to create a perfectly awful situation. I knew I had to step away because we weren’t getting anywhere positive, so I sent myself to my room, leaving her and her homework in the more rational care of her father.
It was a short time later in my darkened room that she delivered the note. I called her to me immediately and asked her to explain, prepared to tell her she was over-reacting, seeing things through an over-dramatic lens. My daughter looked me in the eye and told me her truth – things I have said and done that hurt her, made her feel unloved.
“Get out of my aura, Zilla.”
“I’m just not interested in this, Zilla.”
“I have work to do, Zilla.”
My own words lept from her lips to my ears.
I was crushed.
Not one of those words was spoken with malice, but I had to admit I remembered saying them. Hearing my own words leap back at me from her lips, though, I realized she was right. Those were not words of love. It is easy to forget that the words we say are not always heard the way they sound in our head. Sarcasm sounds mean. Lightness is mistaken for gravity. I have to remember that what may seem innocuous is given much weight by my very literal eight year old child. Because she watches me.
And I have to remember that not only does she watch me do things like step on a scale, but she also watches how I admit a wrong and how I handle an apology. She watches how I deal with adversity and success. She watches how I treat the cashier at the supermarket or the annoying driver in the car ahead of me. She watches how I argue with my husband and how I parent. She watches me seek the best balance between personal needs, work, and family. She watches whether or not I look at my phone during dinner. She will watch how I face life’s milestones, how I grow older, how I face death.
At every moment, she will watch. She will learn how to live and love and be.
And she will remember.
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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. This week’s topic is “The things I’ve forgotten…”
Our host this week, as always, is the lovely and talented Kristi Campbell from Finding Ninee and our sentence starter comes from Hillary Savoie of HillarySavoie.com.
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At every moment, she will watch. She will learn how to live and love and be. So very true Lisa, so very true. As grandparents who live with their son and family we have another generation watching us…I wish I could say we got this perfectly but of course we don’t . But we have another chance to be open and honest as we live life as grandparents before them.
My mother died recently and my daughter, 41 spent a couple days with me and her grandmother in her nursing home room. Daughter watching mother watching her mother dying was speaking loudly. She shared before she left, I think Mom I can let you go when the time comes now. She had been watching me letting go for a few days. She summoned up the courage to get into bed with her grandma, love on her, fell asleep with her. As I watched her my heart was over whelmed as I listen to her say to her grandma the same words I said. Words such as, Grandma, your Mom and Dad are waiting for you, it’s ok to go, it’s ok to go. I am here and I will be alright, you can go. I love you and thank you for loving me. Ok, I am in tears as I write this. This is a sweet sweet post. Blessings.
Betty, I am so sorry about your mom, but thank you for sharing your story of those beautiful last moments with all of us.
I don’t know anyone who can say they did it perfectly. I think what’s important is that we do the best we can and be honest enough to admit when we need to do better. If we do that, our children learn about humility, self-improvement, and determination, too.
Thank you for reading and sharing your tears. Blessings to you, too!
OMG I am SO guilty of this too. Tucker’s never written me a note but so often he’s like “am I in trouble?” and I’m like “WHAT??? NO OF COURSE NOT WHY????” and he says I made a disappointed or annoyed face. FACE. OMG. I’m so glad you wrote this. I need a constant reminder. And not just for him but for him listening to how I speak to my husband – he just today said “I remember when you told Daddy he wasn’t being nice.” Gah. I think about the quote “our voice is the voice in their heads” often but how do we say “I HAVE TO DO THIS” and sound nice too? working on it. <3
You have NO idea how hard that was for me to hear. Or how hard it was for me to write this and hit publish. But can I say how glad I am (not that it’s the right word) that I’m not the only one? They see and hear so much that I think we don’t even know we’re putting out there. It’s definitely something to work on because some days I swear I think twenty times, “Oh God how is that going to sink in? Did I say that wrong? Too harsh?”
Sounds like some trying moments and teachable ones as well.
Homework can be like that. When I was in kidney failure as a child I struggled with math especially. My mom would spend hours with me, trying to explain things and I would stare back blankly. My diagnosis wasn’t clear then and my mom, though one of the more patient and calm people I know, had a few moments where she lost her cool with me. She knew I was struggling, could see it, but that didn’t defuse the moment we were in.
I can’t imagine the feeling that a small person is growing and learning from every move you make. Without children of my own, that’s just not something I have to deal with on a regular basis, but I can see how much you’re learning. Kids do all end up realizing that their parents most often were doing the best they could at the time, that they are human too, or at least most realize these things. I can’t promise you that will be the case for you, but hoping your relationship as mother and daughter only strengthens from here on out.
Kerry, I think sometimes life’s most trying moments are also the most teachable. No one gets it right all the time. What’s important is that we are able to admit when we get it wrong and work to improve when necessary.
It is indeed sobering to think that your child – or any child, really – is watching and using your example as a guide. Nieces, nephews, students, children of friends, young cousins…they all watch.
What struck me most, perhaps, in this situation was that my daughter was able to come to me and tell me she was hurting without fear. That speaks worlds and tells me we have something good and that she will learn that you can tell someone you love how you feel and expect to have that concern met with openness, with compassion. At least that’s what I hope I’ve done and what she takes away.
Sounds like she already has. For sure.
🙂
I have totally done this in the past with telling my kids I have to work and put them off. I seriously am trying to be better about it, but still I am very much guilty, as well. But thank you for the reminder here about how what we do does effect our kids even more than we realize. Hugs and again you aren’t alone though in the least.
And of course we have to work, Janine, and we do say these things. I said that to Zilla and explained that parents do have to work. She said “I know, but it’s the way you said it.” So true – tone has so much to do with how the other person perceives things.
Its hard to be perfect all the time. Don’t beat yourself up too much. Self-awareness is half the battle and the fact that you care, means you’re a good mother. I’ve had to have this talk with myself many times, especially having a son with special needs. I think its harder if you’re an introvert (like myself) who cherishes quiet time. I think we have to strike that balance between finding time for them and ourselves. Its tough, but doable.
No beating up, Laurie, but definitely a little examination of conscience! You’re right about the self-awareness. It’s only when we can acknowledge something we need to work on that we can do anything about it.
Oh, definitely a challenge for us introverts who so very much need that alone time! Vigilance and awareness is key when you know you’re at your threshold for input and the input just keeps coming – at least that’s true for me! It is absolutely about finding the right balance and remembering that there is give/take on both sides.
I love this piece oh so much. So very eloquent and raw and…your heart is wide here Lisa.
All of us moms share this with you and if they say that they have never had this moment when their child ripped open their eyes like this — well they’re effing lying.
Life is so busy and we all get caught up. No matter how much we say we will pay more attention and this and that, it just happens. You’re a good mama. You are. Don’t doubt it for a second.
Thank you so much, Kim. <3
I am certain all moms have moments like these - we're human, after all.
What a brave little girl to come out and share with you. I’m sure it wasn’t an easy post to write, but a great one for us all to read . . . and remember. Thanks for sharing.
Shirley, that’s the thing that impressed me most – that she was not afraid and could be totally honest. That will serve her well in life. Nope, not easy to write at all, but look how many of us share similar experiences.
Oooh! Powerful and convicting! I remember phrases like this from my own mother and how they stung, and I remember saying similar things to my own children. I often wonder how the messages I gave them about relationships, bad ones, play into their own relationships good and bad today. Did I teach them what was important? Did I show them how to be kind and caring, and most importantly that they were important enough for me to take time? My kids have turned out to be good people, but I really think that might have a lot more to do with their own destiny than with what they learned from me. Zilla is so very blessed in that she can communicate her feelings to you so that you can work together on what happens next. Great writing, inspirational!
I don’t know, Josie. None of us is perfect. I think the difference lies in whether we brush off the mistakes we make or whether we make amends and learn from them. I think you’re a mighty wonderful person so give yourself credit for raising those good people. Definitely. I can’t tell you how happy it makes me that my daughter is comfortable and confident enough in our relationship to tell me straight out how she feels. That’s huge not just for us, but for her whole life.
Thanks <3
Beautiful, wonderful writing, Lisa. And a stark reminder that what we are and how we do things, really does influence the future, not only of our own lives, but of our childrens’.
Thank you, my friend. <3 And yes, it certainly does.
It’s so hard sometimes. And really, all they want is our attention.
Exactly right, Liv. And I don’t begrudge her my attention for a second. I just don’t always do the best job of striking the best balance. All too soon she will be out in the world on her own and I’ll have plenty of time to work, right?
My mother taught me to hate my body, to be critical and harsh as I continually examined my appearance. She also taught me to be quiet when my opinion differed, because no one likes a girl with uncommon thoughts or ideas. But I love, even admire, my mom because she always did the best she could with the tools she had. And though she led me down some bad roads, she also steered me right fairly often too. By reading this post I see that you are a work in progress– as my mom was. As I am. As we all are. It’s an amazing journey! All the best to you and your daughter, and thanks for sharing your story.
Rica, that’s exactly it – we are all works in progress. Every day. When we fail to acknowledge that is when we have trouble. I adore my Mom. Truly. She wasn’t (isn’t) perfect. She didn’t do it right every single second. She was stressed and over-worked and trying to find balance, too – just like all of us. And now that I’m a mom? I see and appreciate those moments. I don’t think kids can see them for what they are until much later in life. Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts. I’m now off to read your post and find out why I won’t be good at yoga! 😀
And she will remember this moment as well and her Mom’s humanity. she will remember to handle this same moment , this same way with her own daughter.
It is my deepest hope. <3
I loved this so much. The fact that your daughter felt safe and secure to come to you with her thoughts and feelings. You ARE getting it right and she sees *that.* Parenting doesn’t come with a manual. We do what we do and as Maya Angelou says, “When we know better we do better.” You’re doing it and you’re doing it well. Trust that.
Thanks, Karen! (And I still LOVE your blog title, by the way.) That’s the best part for me – that she felt OK about talking to me. That’s a win. I love the Angelou quote – so very true.
Oh how I both loved and saw myself in this post. How wonderful that your daughter shared her feelings so clearly with you. I understand that was awful for you – but three cheers to you for raising the daughter who can identify what is upsetting her and feel she has the power to call it out. I would be very proud of that daughter.
I read this recalling how I yelled at mine this morning. Dad had left early (before 7:00), and I was rushing the morning routine to get them ready while trying to multi-task a work item due by 9:00 at 7:15 before I lost 60ish minutes to commute. I needed five minutes in the tsunami of morning routine to formulate cogent thought to meet deadline and there they were AFTER dressing AND breakfast AND second breakfast STILL wanting me (or more juice, or NOT THAT hair) and I blew. And I know they forgive, but I also know they watch and that my losing it in these moments models behaviour they will emulate. And, hello, shame. We all feel it.
All that to say, I think you and your daughter are solid, and even if these moments are honestly awful for both of you, I think she won’t remember the homework debacle as much as she the fact that you cared enough to lose your sh*t over it – which speaks to your love for her. In the balance of life, I think kids remember THAT.
Louise, so good to see you!!! I’ve been so out of touch with the world this summer. I’m back now, though! Really missed everyone.
Thanks for your comments – so much! And thanks for sharing your story, too. an’t tell you how many moms have said “yup, me too” and similar things. We have all been here, I know. Crushing, though, isn’t it?
I am proud of my girl for coming to me and talking to me. I really am. I suppose that’s the big win in all of this – that we are sold. And I think you’re right about what she will remember. I know what I remember about my mom and my grandmother and it’s not the details of the arguments at all. It’s the love. Always.