In the dark and early hours of this morning I had a terrible nightmare. A dream so real and frightening I awoke soaking wet and in a wicked place of half rage and half panic. In the dream I was the perpetrator, I was angry, and I was the one causing the anguish. My daughter, whom I love and treasure more than my own soul, was the victim. After lashing out at her both verbally and physically, she turned to look me in the eye and I saw that I had killed the most important thing in my life...her love, and it was then the panic set in.
Unfortunately the dream was actually a flash back of a similar encounter I had with my father when I was 16. While the circumstances were a little different, the outcome was the same. He destroyed every ounce of love I had for him because of his ego and pride about a sad choice I made. I can recall the event with clarity, even though it took me a few hours to realize that encounter was the deeply buried source of the nightmare. I was so angry upon waking that if I'd had a weapon close by I think I would have used it to harm myself. I was absolutely horrified by what I had done in my dream.
Later in the morning I sent my daughter a text and told her how much I loved her. She thought it was just a moment of "mom being mom", which is a precious indicator of our relationship. My expressions of love and gratitude for my kids is something I try to show on a daily basis. Yes, I lose my temper. Yes, sometimes I yell at them. No, I do not throw things, or bring bodily harm to them- ever. If I wanted to hurt myself from just dreaming about inflicting pain I can't imagine how I could live with myself if I actually did such a thing.
It's been 25 years since the heartbreaking incident with my father (but obviously there were other problems brewing for a long time). We've had moments of both healing, and of new destruction. Presently there is simple acknowledgement of our blood relationship and a striving for peace when we're in the same room. I think he regrets his actions. I look at my 15 yr old daughter and could never blame her for the things he blamed me for. I look at her and I understand the delicate balance beam she walks upon as she transitions from girl to woman. I treasure her innocence, yet I also embrace and support her as she feels and thinks the things a new woman feels. I have been her mother, protector, teacher, and mentor, and as she spreads her wings I want her to have confidence that I will always be here for her. She will make mistakes. I will help her pick up pieces. We will disagree on how best to do something, but I will honor her choices in the end.
It's been a weird day. Things from the past have wiggled up to the surface and brought tears to my eyes more than once. I honestly thought all of this was behind me, but part of me still throbs with an ache that simply hasn't gone away. Perhaps it's the realization that for so many years I took full responsibility for what I did at 16 and the anger and grief it caused the people around me, only to have my own daughter (who will be 16 this year) and wonder how anyone could put such a load on her tiny shoulders. Why would anyone lash out, or blame, or damage someone so important? I don't know.
I do know that experience shaped me as a mother. I do know that some molds (moulds?) should be broken. I know that if my own sad experiences have made me a better parent for this beautiful girl (and my dear son) - then they were experiences worth having regardless of how painful they were. I can't go back and change anything in my past, but I can make better choices in my future and theirs...and I definitely have.
Tonight I'm grateful for broken molds and hopeful for a peaceful night of sleep.
I wish the same for you ♥
