This is beautiful. And what you have done in breaking the cycle is beautiful.
I carry the "shrink down and hide" reflex as well, but from being neurodivergent in a time and a world which had no understanding beyond hyperactive boys and the kids you sent away forever. I could be the quiet kid, ignored in the corner with my nose in a book, or I could try to interact, and give the mean girls and bullies target practice. Easy choice, but, as much as I loved books, I was terrible with formal education, so I was also always trying to stay below the adults' radar so I didn't get yelled at for things beyond my control.
I still struggle with too much and not enough in relationships, and I was terrified of traumatizing a child, especially if I passed on my "we don't know, you don't match any known diagnosis, but your testing is very much not normal" divergence. So I never had kids. Best not to risk starting a cycle!
“There's grief there, deep and complicated. Grief for the experiences I never had, the confidence I never developed, the sense of belonging in the world that took me decades to build from scratch. Grief for the relationship with my own mother that might have been possible if her wounds hadn't made her so hungry for control, so terrified of my independence.”
This part brought me to tears. The longing for what might have been, what could be for everyone on this earth who has to swim against the tide. Blessed are the people in our lives who act as lifelines, rafts or various flotation devices as we flail about in the chaos of existence.
This is one of the most profound renderings I have read of what it means to break an intergenerational pattern. Not in some grand dramatic flourish, but in the daily, ordinary, radical ways we choose differently. The texture of this piece, from the doors and floors to the phones, captures how control is baked into the architecture of a life. Trust, once reclaimed, builds its own scaffolding. Your daughter’s freedom is your revolution. This essay is a testament to that quiet, fierce work. Brava.
As an adult, thinking about the way I was raised, I came to the conclusion that it could be labeled Benign Neglect. It wasn't that I wasn't loved but that the love had no strings. I could do what I wanted to as long as I stayed safe. Of course, by the time I was old enough to engage in unsafe behavior, I no longer had the desire to. I made mistakes but rarely the same one twice. I moved around my world independently and with increasing confidence. Was it perfect? Of course not. There was all the internal unsureness that goes along with self awareness. But the internal message that I carried with me from childhood was, I can handle this. I still feel that way but the sureness is slipping as I age, as my body ages. Walking has become increasing difficult. I had a minor stroke and a heart attack that I didn't even know about. The internal message still holds true, I can handle this. I just need to figure out how.
“There's grief there, deep and complicated. Grief for the experiences I never had, the confidence I never developed, the sense of belonging in the world that took me decades to build from scratch. Grief for the relationship with my own mother that might have been possible if her wounds hadn't made her so hungry for control, so terrified of my independence.”
I’m not crying….
Thank you so much for sharing. I felt this one deep.
💝You should write a book sweets!
This is beautiful. And what you have done in breaking the cycle is beautiful.
I carry the "shrink down and hide" reflex as well, but from being neurodivergent in a time and a world which had no understanding beyond hyperactive boys and the kids you sent away forever. I could be the quiet kid, ignored in the corner with my nose in a book, or I could try to interact, and give the mean girls and bullies target practice. Easy choice, but, as much as I loved books, I was terrible with formal education, so I was also always trying to stay below the adults' radar so I didn't get yelled at for things beyond my control.
I still struggle with too much and not enough in relationships, and I was terrified of traumatizing a child, especially if I passed on my "we don't know, you don't match any known diagnosis, but your testing is very much not normal" divergence. So I never had kids. Best not to risk starting a cycle!
“There's grief there, deep and complicated. Grief for the experiences I never had, the confidence I never developed, the sense of belonging in the world that took me decades to build from scratch. Grief for the relationship with my own mother that might have been possible if her wounds hadn't made her so hungry for control, so terrified of my independence.”
This part brought me to tears. The longing for what might have been, what could be for everyone on this earth who has to swim against the tide. Blessed are the people in our lives who act as lifelines, rafts or various flotation devices as we flail about in the chaos of existence.
This is one of the most profound renderings I have read of what it means to break an intergenerational pattern. Not in some grand dramatic flourish, but in the daily, ordinary, radical ways we choose differently. The texture of this piece, from the doors and floors to the phones, captures how control is baked into the architecture of a life. Trust, once reclaimed, builds its own scaffolding. Your daughter’s freedom is your revolution. This essay is a testament to that quiet, fierce work. Brava.
I knew early on that our mother wanted us to be our own people—her way.
You did such a beautiful job of doing it differently! And so beautifully written.
Wish I’d done half as well as you’ve done at tossing out the family psychological hand-me-downs. ❤️
As an adult, thinking about the way I was raised, I came to the conclusion that it could be labeled Benign Neglect. It wasn't that I wasn't loved but that the love had no strings. I could do what I wanted to as long as I stayed safe. Of course, by the time I was old enough to engage in unsafe behavior, I no longer had the desire to. I made mistakes but rarely the same one twice. I moved around my world independently and with increasing confidence. Was it perfect? Of course not. There was all the internal unsureness that goes along with self awareness. But the internal message that I carried with me from childhood was, I can handle this. I still feel that way but the sureness is slipping as I age, as my body ages. Walking has become increasing difficult. I had a minor stroke and a heart attack that I didn't even know about. The internal message still holds true, I can handle this. I just need to figure out how.
“There's grief there, deep and complicated. Grief for the experiences I never had, the confidence I never developed, the sense of belonging in the world that took me decades to build from scratch. Grief for the relationship with my own mother that might have been possible if her wounds hadn't made her so hungry for control, so terrified of my independence.”
I’m not crying….
Thank you so much for sharing. I felt this one deep.