Get ready . . . this is long!

December 2021: Yet ANOTHER update

Me? I’m now 58 and have been married for six years, my mother has been gone for six and a half years, and I have about 10 years at my job. I’ve grown up a lot and feel I’ve changed in so many good ways. I think I’m more relaxed, though I do have my triggers and will still defend my children against any “evil force.” I don’t react to funny hair or nipple piercings anymore, nor do I care if my daughter and her boyfriend have somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 tattoos between them. I’ve embraced that the world around me has changed and not everybody was born in 1963 to a super old-school father who called Black people “shvartsas,” wore “rubbers” to protect his dress shoes, and wouldn’t let me date until I was 18. And they had to be doctors (at 18, really?) who were ready to propose.

Anyway, this blog is not my biography, it’s about life with a daughter who’s brought me to hell and back. Thank god (I don’t really believe in god, btw) we seem to be standing on solid ground now. While I gave up hope many times that either I’d crack up or she’d be dead, the worst is over and good things have finally come. You’ll have to read the rest of this page and my many, many blog posts to understand the journey so you can appreciate the landing. You might be mortified at some of it, might relate to a few things, might feel sorry for me at times, or might think I’m a fuckup as a mother. All are justifiable reactions. But you can never say I wasn’t present or didn’t turn myself and my heart inside out for my child (make that children).

So what’s the update part of this? Well, the craziest thing has happened in the past year—the tables have completely turned. I truly believe that I enjoy my formerly troubled teen daughter, who’s now 28, more than her older sister. FTTD has a stable job, where she’s valued and respected, and even has her own office; dates a terrific guy who encourages her to be her best self and engage with her parents; talks to me four out of seven days a week; pays me back when she’s borrowed money; remembers to say thank you when someone does something nice for her; takes care of her mental health; and appreciates her blessings.

Her older sister, who’s 30 now, stresses me out whenever I talk to her, to the point where I sometimes don’t even pick up the phone. She has a giant chip on her shoulder, despite going to counseling once a week; makes me feel like there’s an argument brewing every time we talk; complains about my husband even though she’s only seen him once in two years; and dates a guy who doesn’t insist they make more of an effort to see me, considering they socialize with his family pretty frequently. Additionally, she’s unemployed by choice, even though I paid for her to have specialized training at an Ivy League school, and asks for money for dumb things like invisible braces (I paid for them with the agreement that she’d pay me back; she hasn’t). I’m not as proud of her as I used to be (or should be, maybe), though of course I love her immeasurably and still find her amazing. I just think she’s wasting her life. She and her boyfriend of six or so years are not married, have no children, and have few bills. She has an advanced education, work experience, beauty, grace, insight, perceptiveness, and personality. She could so easily work and save a ton of money so she can buy a house or some property somewhere like she talks about all the time. Then, when the marriage and/or kids come (which they will), she can then slow down, and work less or not at all.

I never thought I would feel excited to engage with my younger child. I look forward to lunches, shopping, phone calls, silly TikTok videos, and when she and her boyfriend just come over. The latter isn’t often yet, but it’s so pleasant for me when it happens. I realize it’s early days, and she’s doing what she needs to in order to survive and thrive, but she’s setting goals and meeting them. She’s acquired a support system and is living a more stable, normal (but still edgy-ish) life. She and her boyfriend work, take care of their home (he owns it), baby their dogs, pay their bills, bicker, save money, go out to movies, hang out with friends, and communicate with ME, ME, ME.

I feel hopeful most of the time now for her, and that’s all I’ve wanted for all these years, which feel like double time when you’ve had so much trauma and drama. I’m still anonymous, though; I believe I’ve revealed enough.

July 2018

Wow, eight years a long time to write an anonymous blog. At least I’ve graduated to hosting it—but I still, at age 54, don’t have the courage to go public with my story. Chances are none of my friends would see this, but if they did, I’d either be a pariah or a hero. I’ve been great at not giving any hints about the sadness, fear, disappointment, and shame I’ve felt about how my daughter still conducts her life at almost 25. When I listen to my friends talk about their “struggles” with their kids, I want to barf. . . or get violent. When they’re talking about Buffy getting a B in Advanced College Calculus while still in 7th grade, my ears close up. When I hear how Monty is so busy with two jobs, volunteer work, a model girlfriend, and a full course load in law school, it’s all I can do to not punch proud mommy’s face in. When a friend goes on and on about how their twins both got full rides to an Ivy League school and they’re tormented about where to go, my face turns to stone. When they ask about my daughter (and I physically cringe when they do) I just say, “Oh, yes, baby daughter has moved to her new city and works full time. She’s so happy there and loves the weather.” I leave out that I still have to pay her rent 90% of the time because she always has a crisis (tire blow out, paycheck late, medical issue), that she is probably high as we speak, that she has a tattoo on her scalp, that she lives in a tiny apartment with five cats and a dog, and has an incurable STD. 

Yet, I love that fucking girl. Why can’t I cut the cord, pull the plug, walk away, turn the other cheek? I read back through my posts from years past, and I still have no answers for my behavior. I can justify everything I do and don’t do, but I can’t seem to leave her life even though a blind man could see that she has left mine (until she needs something and she knows how to work me). Maybe it’s because deep down, I know she’s still good. She was a precious,  intelligent, beautiful, loving child who could’ve done anything in the world she wanted. I would’ve scrubbed toilets to put her through law school or anything she desired. I keep hoping she’ll realize this and nurture herself so I don’t have to always torture myself. 

“Happy” reading. Peruse my blog at the very least to make yourself feel better about your own life!

November 2010

I’m a middle-aged mom, reasonably educated (master’s in human resources—la-dee-dah) and was a middle school teacher for over a decade. My children were born in 1991 and 1993 so, being that this is 2010, I’ve been a mother for 19 years. You’d think with my background, I would’ve been prepared for all the child/teen problems I encountered, but I was NOT.

My older child is typical of most older children—responsible, mature, easy to raise, incredibly easy to love—she’s pretty much a golden child. She is an amazing young woman and I’m exceptionally proud of her, but I can’t take credit for her amazingness. Daughter number one is so innately self-governing, so independent, so perceptive, and so sharp that I think she actually raised herself. She’s got her own mind, and it isn’t mine. Some of my words come out of her mouth, sure, but she’s developed her own sense of the world. DNO has moved to a cool city in another state, rents an apartment with international students, attends school full-time, gets stellar grades and actually learns from the coursework, keeps in shape, works at a fun job . . . the list goes on and on.

Daughter number two is also my love girl, my puppy, but she comes from a different mold of human being. She’s ALWAYS been attracted to the edgy side of life—even as a grade schooler. If there was a rule to break or a bathroom wall to use Sharpies on, she was there. It developed into a propensity to hang with ravers, potheads, girls who had reputations, etc. and the older the friends, the better. She’s now almost 17, is a loving and sweet daughter and granddaughter, has gotten her GED, works full time, and pays for her own car and insurance—AFTER being in three car wrecks (two were total losses); being picked up for curfew violation at 2 a.m. in a park with a 19-year-old; being kicked off the school bus for cursing at the driver; and being arrested for shoplifting, using a fake ID, and having the arresting officer find pot paraphernalia in the above-mentioned car. She’s also had speeding tickets . . . and these are only the things I know about. Most teens have a secret life, but this one probably has another family somewhere!

I started this blog to talk about being a parent to such a child and the intense life you must live in order to get through your days. I have felt many times like giving up and sending her “away” but could never do it. I strongly believe she belongs with me, supporting her, loving her, putting up with her, and hoping for better. My children are imperfect, totally three-dimensional creatures, and no matter what they throw at me, I’m their mother and I live for them. I’m a wreck half the time, but I believe that I’ll have peace someday. 

For now, I’m keeping anonymous because I can be more honest that way, but someday I’ll come “out of the closet” and let my friends and colleagues read this. Maybe then they’ll understand why I’m a colorful, lovable nut job.