Goodbye . . . Again

My formerly troubled daughter is moving out again. This time, she’s not in trouble, she’s not moving in with a boyfriend, and she’s not angry. She’s simply ready to move out and be out from under my iron fist.

Ha. Iron fist. Since she moved home in the summer, I’ve barely seen her and she chooses not to make time for me. Sure, we’ve had a lunch or two, but she seldom comes home before four in the morning. She’s living a pretty secret life. I truly don’t know what she does with her time and space and I’ve given up trying to figure it out or be part of her world. She is pleasant and we don’t fight ever. I give myself credit for that. I’ve learned to simply reduce the number of questions I ask: #1 because I don’t want to hear the true answers, #2 because I don’t want to fight, and #3 because she’ll just lie anyway.

Here’s what I know—she lost weight, she may or may not be going to school, she pierced her nipples (and showed me), she sleeps all day (if she’s home), and she’s spent a boatload of money on new clothes, makeup, manicures, pedicures, and lingerie. She’s paying for her car, she’s taken some road trips, she broke up with the deadbeat boyfriend, and has rekindled friendships with old coworkers and high school classmates.

She rekindles in an interesting way. One morning I came home from an overnight, and she was in bed sleeping with a guy friend from work, whom she said she didn’t like anymore. He’s too needy and has a strange temper she once told me. Apparently, she couldn’t sleep and he was happy to come over in the middle of the night and talk to her (while spooning) until they fell asleep. How sweet. Plausible? Ridiculous? This was two days after she brought the boy she knew in high school to Thanksgiving dinner—a boy who clearly lusts after her. She went camping with this boy (while still dating the loser boyfriend) and has slept over his house on many occasions. She became reacquainted with this boy, by the way, by frequenting a strip mall liquor store. Nice, huh? It’s not like we live in a hick town and that’s the only place for young people to hang out. This is a big city with fascinating cultural events and activities of all kinds to pique one’s interest. My daughter, since about 16 it turns out, thinks the lowlife liquor store is the place she belongs (when she’s not at her piercing/tattooing “salon”).

So, her lifestyle once again disgusts me, embarrasses me, and makes me sad. I still don’t believe that she’s working at the great job she had for two  years. I’ve offered to bring lunch to her and she talks her way out of it. Sometimes I’ve caught her home at times that she’d normally be at work, and she has an excuse for that too (like, “It was slow and I didn’t want to mess up my great stats, so they let me leave early”). She’s been spending money, paying bills, and fixing her credit problems, so I know she’s making a living somehow, I just don’t think I’m sure how. Lingerie, odd hours, down about 10 pounds, pampering…what’s going on?

If we have to talk bottom line(s), I’m glad she’s moving out. I’m a nervous wreck with her lifestyle and since she’s almost 19, there’s little that I can do about anything. I only have a say in what I’ll tolerate in my home, so it’s appropriate for her not to live under my roof—with my stodgy rules. She can go be on her own, be gross, pierce and tattoo whatever she wants, and leave me out of it. She can smoke and be a slob, clog up her toilet, and fill her fridge with Red Bulls and it won’t affect me. She says she’s got everything under control, doesn’t need any help with decisions, counseling, medical needs, money, school, moving . . . nothing. So good for her.

Here’s what’s going to come of it . . . we’ll have no relationship. Picture an old car being towed, fastened to the truck by a frayed rope. The rope snaps and the disabled vehicle is left behind on the freeway, in the way, more useless than before. That’s where our connection will stand within a few months.

I truly believe that she won’t go to school, she’ll hook up with one useless boyfriend after another—maybe some useless girlfriends—and the distance will grow until I hear that she’s moved to Milwaukee or Long Beach some other strange place and wanted to say hi and send me a picture of her newest tattoo or cat.

I’m sad and I miss the little girl that could’ve been an outstanding young woman. She won’t let me in, won’t let me help. So I’m out and I’m helpless.

 

 

Almost Goodbye

It’s the countdown to having a real empty nest. Not one of those false alarms from age 16, then age 17. This is a well thought-out version of my daughter moving out. Even though I don’t agree with some of her plans, she has solid plans this time and she’s actually being very mature about the situation. I have to give her credit and lots of respect for this.

I also must give her due credit for being aware of money, credit, paying bills, earning a paycheck…courtesy of working since she was 15 and having a great job at a credit card company. She's pretty savvy for an 18-year-old and is thus going to be in charge of the finances at her new apartment—collecting the rent, utility, and expense money from everyone and doling it out. She also took care of getting the ball rolling—finding the apartment, turning on the utilities, negotiating the lease, and making various lists of things to do…with little to no help from me.

It’s the right thing at the right time—I approve of where she’s going to live (I visited the complex with her a few months ago), and I don’t even mind that she’s going to live with her boyfriend. Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s too young and it’s way too early, but on the other hand, he’ll protect her from harm and take care of her. There’s something about him that makes her feel content and loved, and that’s what she’s been seeking her whole life. I apparently can’t adequately provide for these needs, no matter how much I say and demonstrate how much I love her. So I guess if it can’t be mommy, it can be the boyfriend. They have been making plans together on how they’re going to run their household, including their budget, house rules, and décor!

Even though this process started from a fiery event—when she was caught in the park doing no-good and me shouting that she’s out of my house—it’s going to end up being a godsend. I have high hopes—she’ll be happier having her independence and truly being allowed to grow up. I also believe that our relationship will have a chance to be normal and peaceful. For me, my stress will be reduced 10-fold and I’ll be able to have a life that doesn’t involve waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Speaking of me, I’ll miss her desperately because, despite anything she says or does, I love her deep in my soul and would stand in front of a speeding bullet for her; however, I need the blessed space. I need to breathe and relax and enjoy my middle age, complete with the gray hair and wrinkles that I’ve earned. I think having that space will give us both a new perspective on how much we mean to each other and we’ll eventually be able to talk about real things, real life—without me saying the wrong thing in the wrong way at the wrong time and having her shut me down and shut me out.

All I can do is wait and see, check in with the situation in about a month and decide if it’s working. I have my fingers crossed and my troll doll activated.