Letters to my Daughter: September 13, 2017

You crawl around scattered toys on the floor, tottering on wobbly knees with outstretched hands as if you're gauging the distance between yourself and larger objects the way I watch the leaves on the tree flutter outside. Chewing on your bottom lip you advance, your small fingers dig into the carpet for traction. I watch you tumble, lying flat with your small toes spread out toward the ceiling, and we both wait. It’s been like this for a while. I chase after you and you smile and we do it all over again. Grownup life will be much the same, tumbling and waiting for something bigger to happen, your face pressed against something hard with little strength left to manage. I won’t always be there to help you work through it.

Your body is pliable in my arms. I hold you close, whisper about the nuances of our day and you whisper back. My chest is hollow. Every time I close my eyes I see two large hands crushing my heart and my mind is foggy. Your father hates me for it and my heart is squeezed tighter, my mind slips further from me, and it leaves me joyless with you in my arms. I wonder how you’ll interpret these years, the conflicting narratives and how I wasn’t always my best for you. I’m weighed down by my fallibility and how myopic I’ve become while struggling to provide stability for us. I’m sacrificing too much. I’m torn between making ends meet, carving out time for you and failing. My love for you is the only thing that pushes me out of bed in the morning. Everything in my life is cast grey while you stand out in bright colors — my only joy, my living heart, without you I would be nothing.

I’m not enough for you and it rattles me. It’s a never ending loop in my mind — I forgot to trim your nails again, your clothes are spotted with stains I can’t wash out. I have trouble eating and barely sleep. If I don’t present myself a certain way, he won’t love me back. He doesn’t love me back. He refuses to love me back. My thoughts are hard to pin down, nebulous and incomplete, I stumble over my words. He hates me for it. All of my flaws are unforgivable while with him, what you see if what you get. He reminds me how unbearable I am and it echoes in my chest. I’m slowly drowning in air and he doesn’t care. We struggle to be kind to each other. We do so much talking and accomplish nothing. I don’t want my sadness to be the first thing you remember about me.