Get A Life

My daughter told me that I had no life. She wanted to hurt me in a moment of intense conflict and she succeeded. Words spoken in anger are usually rubbed raw by honesty. She truly thought that I had no life.

I’ve been thinking about our painful argument every since it happened. Was it true? What was she seeing about me or what did she think I was missing?

The fight erupted over a discussion about her visitation schedule with her father. She was comparing his life to mine. “He has a life.” The sentence that she had uttered that cut through me.

Her dad works out of his home. He has a small social circle from church and he travels independently quite often. He jogs and enjoys music and movies. He is a recent widow. It’s a quick description of his life.

I am remarried and have three children. I work full time outside of my home. I enjoy the outdoors, TV, and writing. It’s a brief snapshot of my life.

But I don’t believe my daughter’s summation was about the basic facts. I think it instead spoke volumes about our emotional and familial relationship at that time.

As many teens do, my daughter tended to live out her days and evenings in her room. She wouldn’t talk to us all that often. We had to force her to join our weekend adventures. She ignored her brother.

Anyone so sequestered would have no connection to the people on the outskirts. Her statement had to be based on what she perceived, and perhaps on what she wanted of me or for me.

And her drawn opinion was that I had no life. She saw a mom that woke up and went off to work five days a week. She saw a mom that came home about ten hours later to do some chores and get kids off to bed. She saw a mom that then watched a bit of tv before dragging herself to bed.

On the weekends, she would hear chatter of adventures that she refused to attend. She would hear a mom outside gardening or a mom trying to tidy up the house. She would see bags from trips to Target and she would hear me laughing, playing, or yelling. She would see me, when she occasionally left her bedroom, snuggled up to my husband.

She wouldn’t see: the details of a divorce from a man that refused to then pay child support, the financial struggles that never end, the work to afford and purchase a stable home, the legal battles to keep her safe. She wouldn’t see these things because I protected her from the ugliness of life as best I could at the time.

But none of it mattered, as she felt that all of it equated to a lack of life.

And perhaps, dearest daughter, it is not the life you would want for your future adult self. Maybe I erred when I hid my struggles from you. Perhaps I don’t have the life you wish I had chosen. But it is very much a life- my life- in spite of your opinion.

You wanted to hurt me and you succeeded. But I know you love me. I know that your self-involved, teenage perspective is not reality. But you did make me think about who I am and what I’ve accomplished. And for that, I am grateful.

I have a life that I cherish. I have fought hard to be where I am now. And I hope that one day, you are able to see me. All of me.