My daughter has stopped communicating with me. She’s turned off the location tracking on her phone and is staying at her father’s place, harboring a deep resentment towards me. She has every reason to feel this way. I have disappointed her, and if this situation doesn’t improve, it will signify my greatest failure as a parent.
I can’t force my presence upon her. As a wise figure once said, “Mother don’t smother.” There have been times I’ve leaned too far into smothering, attempting to compensate for past mistakes. Yet, it’s vital to allow our children to embrace their individuality, to give them the space they need, and to respect their boundaries when they express the need for distance.
Many parents in recovery are faced with the challenging task of gently repairing the damage that addiction has inflicted on their relationships with their children. I mean it when I say, “blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol.” Because I would never intentionally ignore or abandon her. I still recall the sound of her voice on the phone, her sweet cries for “Mommyyyyy!” echoing, a mix of heartbreak and an odd comfort. She misses me and yearns for my love, but I couldn’t be present.
People used to tell me: if you don’t change, you’ll lose your daughter. I would respond with anger and arrogance, thinking they couldn’t possibly understand my bond with her. I was naive and stubborn.
Now, I find myself in a state of waiting, consumed by a desire for atonement. Everyone always remarked on her brilliance, her awareness, and her unique spirit. She was a remarkable child, born at home on New Year’s Day, a sign of something special.
Nothing compares to the bond of blood. I can vividly recall the moment she entered the world, her small face still blue, her eyes wide like those of a little alien. Her father humorously called her “little alien baby,” and we both felt a deep sense of honor, knowing she was destined for greatness.
She would share enchanting tales of her past lives, describing her experiences with whimsical detail. In one of her stories, she spoke of a place where everyone had yellow hair and was short, and how she lived across from her best friend, Junian. Another tale unfolded in Egypt, where she claimed to be the queen’s secret daughter, her existence erased in a blaze of lasers upon her death. “You were the queen, mama,” she would say, and her conviction made me believe her.
During my partying days, my heart ached for her. I would find myself, a drink in hand, tears streaming down my face, resolving to sober up for her sake. I convinced myself that once I was sober, everything would be alright and that she needed me. Yet, I kept postponing my commitment to change, thinking I would do it after one last celebration or holiday, and that delay robbed us both of precious time.
The memories of her clinging to me, her sweet breath against my neck as she fell asleep, and our joyful moments of laughter and song are etched in my mind. The love we shared was pure, and I was still navigating my own childhood.
I’ve spent too long dwelling on the past, wishing I could turn back time and correct my mistakes. I want to make things right before it’s too late, but I fear it may already be.
Teenagers often harbor disdain for their parents, and my actions have only deepened that chasm. “You’ve only been sober for a year,” my fourteen-year-old daughter reminded me recently. “That doesn’t change anything.” Since that moment, we haven’t spoken.
I am here, my daughter, waiting for you. I understand the hurt you feel, as I’ve experienced similar feelings toward my own parents. The weight of unkindness can be suffocating. But we can break this cycle together.
Throughout my journey, I’ve learned from many teachers, yet you remain my most profound instructor. Your innate wisdom shines brightly, a light reminiscent of great figures throughout history who have taught us the essence of compassion and forgiveness. They understood that if we could have done better sooner, we would have, and perhaps our purpose here is to learn that vital lesson.
I don’t want to miss another moment with you, but I will wait in humility and repentance. My love for you knows no bounds. I would navigate any obstacle, brave any storm, to be your mother in this lifetime again.
“I’m comin’ home, I’m comin’ home, tell the world I’m comin’ home. Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday. I know my kingdom awaits, and they’ve forgiven my mistakes.” — P. Diddy.