Yeah, so as good as it was to relax and do pretty much nothing today, I consider the whole day a failure.
My daughter told me she submitted a poem to the school literary magazine–a poem about me. She said she was mad when she wrote it. It’s all about how I grieved for the child I lost and how I nearly lost her brother. She said she talked about how it would have killed me, because she wasn’t good enough. She asked me what I thought about that. I told her she was the only thing that kept me going through all that pain and grief. Doesn’t matter what I say, or what I have done, she wants to hate me.
I get it, I really do. She’s 14. She’s pulling away from me. She thinks she needs to hate me, she wants to hate me. I refuse to let her grow up too fast, to get into situations that will cause her suffering she isn’t ready to handle. I get it. She’s 14. She doesn’t see the possible outcomes and consequences of her choices. She wants to do what she wants to do. Just because I understand doesn’t make it hurt any less.
How can I hate myself less when the child I have given every part of me hates me half the time?