We had another one of “those conversations” Wednesday night. It’s been such a long time–I think the longest we’ve gone, maybe. Before I share how it went, some context:
For awhile now, I’ve sensed the dynamic between my girl and me shifting. She’s been pricklier and more distant. She’s also been hyper vigilant when it comes to my behavior, jumping to the “defense” of others if I say anything that could be somehow perceived as critical, regardless of the context. If anything doesn’t go her way, it is somehow my fault. ←I recognize this pattern as it’s one I’ve been guilty of in earlier iterations of me. There was a time when I could make everything my husband’s fault, even if he was far removed from whatever circumstance I was seeking to pin responsibility on him for. I’m so grateful now that I worked to reprogram myself to stop doing this; I don’t know what I’d do without the strong relationship he and I have achieved through this difficult circumstance. Recognizing how our loved ones become the target of our aggression, I’ve sometimes comforted myself with the thought of, “oh, I’m the safest person in her life. That’s why she projects so much onto me.”
I think this awareness of the widening gap led to me feeling some sadness and agitation. Using mindfulness strategies, I turned toward these uncomfortable feelings, bringing them up to consciousness and asking myself what they were demanding of me. What seemed immediately clear was that some vulnerable communication with my daughter was needed before she executes her flight from the nest, moving back into the welcoming embrace of her longterm trans community. I waited patiently knowing I needed more clarity to proceed. What was this conversation to be about, specifically?
Then another one of those situations happened Wednesday night at dinner. A perceived altercation to be added to the mounting evidence my daughter has been vigilantly collecting; her superpower hyperfocus pointed at my flaws these days. Hours later when I went to tell her good night, she was the one who was agitated, clearly having spent the time since dinner reflecting–stewing is probably more accurate–on this interaction we’d had at dinner that hadn’t seemed like that big of a deal in the moment. I think subconsciously, I recognized her odd demeanor when she opened her bedroom door to me, but it wasn’t until my own restless night of reflection and journaling the next morning, that I had my, “oh, yes of course. It all makes sense” moment.