In working on my resolutions, I've been tackling the editing of my blog. It's really an aside to tackle old resolutions, but I have so many projects I genuinely want to finish. Editing the blog is a priority because I'd like to have my blog made into a book for my kids. It's a diary of our lives, and I think they'd enjoy it.
In doing the editing - I try to get through five entries a day - I've come across interesting tidbits that have made me think. One is a perception people, including myself, had of Darcy from toddlerhood.
Like siblings who come after the firstborn, Darcy was compared to Madison, and because she was different and more outgoing and talkative and inquisitive, people would tell me I was going to have to "watch out for her when she's a teenager."
I never really believed people meant it literally. I took it as the silly joking things people said about the second child. You know, the comments about how the second child is "certainly not like my firstborn" or "If I knew what I'd be getting, I'd have only had one." I never believe any parent who said things like that because, well, it wasn't something I could fathom. My kids are everything. They are number one, and they come first, and my life was not complete until they entered my life. Truly. Motherhood is the greatest thing I've ever experienced, and I thank my lucky stars daily for being entrusted with their care. But that isn't to say, I didn't believe I'd need to keep an extra grip on Darcy, although as she got older, I remember being somewhat annoyed as the comments continued.
One of our closest friends regularly made comments as Darcy aged and inched closer and closer to graduating high school. It got to a point where Darcy wasn't interested in spending time with this friend because the hurt was too great. I should've stopped it. I'm not sure why I didn't. I may have made half-hearted comments to some those who piped in with a comment or two, but I'm ashamed I didn't tell those people and this friend to shove it. I'm more ashamed of any comments I may have made because in allowing these, I let my child believe being herself wasn't good enough, that being herself was somehow wrong or bad, and dammit, this kid has suffered for that.
She recently had her yearly check-up, and as I've done since she was born, I recorded this today in her electronic medical file. Then, for curiosity's sake, I read through it and discovered a pattern of stomach complaints, rashes, and chest pains. Tests were run and came back completely normal. Diagnosis? Stress, in most cases. Stress! She was ten years old!
She's talked to me about this topic since starting college. She's told me how she's worked hard to NOT be what everyone told her she would become. How she's held herself to a higher standard than her friends and family, and while I know she's proud of what she's accomplished, to what degree is the damage for being perfect?
I can give you excuses. While there is a vast amount of information on parenting, it is mostly instinct and behavior learned from our own parents, along with a stubbornness to NOT make the same mistakes we blamed our parents for, and for the most part, we fly blindly through parenting. I chose to stay home with my children, and their success meant validation for doing so. All true, but certainly not good enough in hurting my kid.
Whenever this topic haunts me, I'm reminded of something one of Darcy's first-grade teachers said to me halfway through the school year. The woman told me while Darcy learns, she really takes what she learns, and relates the knowledge to the outside world, and to what it may or may not mean for her, and for those around her.
The teacher said that was highly unusual at this age and said how much she enjoyed teaching Darcy because the kid soaked everything in, asked questions because she genuinely was curious, and then took all of what she learned and ran with it.
That teacher left before Darcy finished the grade. It saddened me then, and it saddens me now because that woman could've taught me a lot.
I'm sorry, Darcy. For many things, but mainly for not having your back against those who made you feel inadequate. I'm sorry for my role in doing the same. I'm so proud of the kid you were and the woman you've become, and while you've struggled with yourself and forced yourself to succeed, you were always going to do so no matter what anyone said.
So, be kind to yourself. Know that I love you, not for a 4.0-grade point average or for how much you make in life. I love you for your kindness, your humor, your big heart, and your vast personality. I love YOU. And from now on, I've got your back.
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