The Girl Is Back in Town

My troubled daughter (I still habitually label her this way) is back in town and I’ve been ruminating over this new situation. She arrived two days ago after driving 1,500 miles straight through with her location services on but turned them off as soon as she got to her boyfriend’s house. I received one text to tell me she was soooo tired, and haven’t heard anything since. Hello? I’m here. I’m your mother. Tap, tap. Is this thing on? So here I am, feeling:

Excitement: I hope and pray that THIS TIME she’ll make her life work. There are lots of good jobs here and it’s reasonably affordable to live here if you have a roommate. She also grew up here, so she knows the place and might even still have some friends. Maybe she’ll go to the dentist, the doctor, a hairstylist, let me take her shopping for new clothes and things for her home. . . . Wait, stop it. You’ve done all those things before, many times, and she is no further along than when she was 18. Do you really want to do this AGAIN?

Fear: I worry incessantly that she’ll have an issue with her boyfriend, they’ll break up again, and she’ll be on the streets or do even more self-medicating than she already does. She’s unfortunately a follower, and can’t seem to take control of her relationship or her place within it. If they fight, she retreats, becomes angry, and bails. Then I can’t find her and I’m back to worrying that she’ll take her own life.

Sadness: She’s been here a few days, enough to have napped, eaten, and recovered from the long drive. The weather is beautiful here in February, and her mood should be light. But she hasn’t called or texted me, and this makes me feel left out. I thought she’d call me to tell me about the funny stories from her trip or even to get a rise out of me about how she hasn’t showered in four days or she’s camping in the forest. But I got nothing and I’m back to the place I know so well—being sad mama again.

Disappointment: I had high hopes and they’re all dashed. I ostensibly have nothing to look forward to in a relationship with my daughter. I predicted she would ignore me once she moved back, but I didn’t predict it would be immediate or how much it would hurt. Disappointment and frustration are the most difficult emotions for me to live with and process, but I find myself in that place again, where I’m in Antarctica and have no path; my thoughts and emotions just churn. I’m again physically ill because of this distress and the emotional power she holds over me even without having seen her for more than 20 minutes or spoken to her for more than an hour in 15 months. Does she know she has this power?

Embarrassment: I want so much to be part of her life, but like in the song “Black Honey” (thank you to my Twitter friend for pointing me here), I keep swingin’ my hand through a swarm of bees: I can’t understand why they’re stingin’ me. I’ll never be her person, and I really do know it. I don’t reveal much to people in my world, but I’m even embarrassed to share that this is happening again even to my anonymous online pals. I tell myself over and over to leave it alone, to let her go, to wait for her to reach out to me, but I find it so difficult to change my instinct of being a mom for all weather.

Anger: I’m just so angry with so many people, and some of that anger is completely unreasonable, but it’s so intense for me it’s nearly tangible. I’m angry with my daughter for being so cruel to me, even though I know she’s organically lacking in empathy and compassion for me (possibly anyone) and has no doubt been severely damaged by drugs. I still know how I raised her and what I’ve endured from her, so I’m angry that she continues to abuse me, her sister, and mostly herself. I’m angry with myself for allowing this to be the focal part of my life, even if it’s more like the elephant in the room. This situation consumes my thoughts, prevents me from sleeping, and makes me grind my teeth and suffer from migraines, stomach pains, and loss of vigor. I’m angry with my husband and his family for being so connected all the time. It started with jealousy and morphed into white hot anger. They call each other all day long: My husband talks to his kids, his parents, and one of his sisters at least 10 times a day. They know everything that’s going on with each other. They argue, scream, laugh, check-in, and advise . . . all the goddamned time. It’s constantly in my face that I don’t have that with my family; not even my healthy daughter talks to me that often. It’s intense for me and I find myself being angry with him a good deal of the time, and resenting his family. Those relationships are tenuous, and it makes me angry that I don’t feel part of their family either. So I’m not much part of any family, and it all stems from this hurtful, unstable, unhealthy relationship I have with my daughter.