More than Valentine's Day: Everyday Love Notes for My Teen
By Mir Kamin on February 14, 2013
BlogHer Original Post
I have never been a fan of Valentine's Day; it's always felt manufactured and forced to me. Isn't the whole point of loving someone that you let them know, y'know, kind of all the time? Why is a specific day needed to let someone know you care? (Or, alternatively, to let those people who maybe don't feel as loved as they wished feel even more alone and alienated than usual?) I got to thinking about this a little while ago as I considered the holiday, and the fact that for the first time, I'm not with my daughter for it.
On the one hand: Who cares? Stupid made-up holiday. My daughter knows I love her. On the other hand: This isn't about Valentine's Day. This is about what it means to love, and putting feelings into action.
I've been divorced for nearly ten years, and my kids have always lived with me. After a rough year in 2012, my daughter -- now 14 -- decided she wanted to try living with her father for the the next school year. Letting her go could be the topic of another post (or three); my baby moved over a thousand miles away, and all I could do was pray that she would find what she was looking for and come back to us in a better place. I knew it would be hard, for both of us.
She left, and thus commenced a complicated and unfamiliar dance between us; if I didn't contact her often enough (in her mind) or drop everything to talk to her whenever she called, I clearly didn't love her anymore. If I asked how school was going or offered any sort of guidance, I was micromanaging and "long-distance parenting." This is the nature of a teenager, I suppose, even if you don't throw significant challenges and a 1,000+ mile gap in there. Still, it stung. I found myself second-guessing everything I said or did, constantly trying to temper my instincts with what her reaction might be. And the harder I tried, the more it felt like I could do no right in my child's eyes, and maybe I really was screwing up everything. While I'm no stranger to the "You're ruining my life!" gambit -- nor does it bother me when I know I'm doing my job as a parent -- the move changed my role and left us both, I think, unsure.
Things came to a head, as these things often do. Suffice it to say that it wasn't pretty. She didn't speak to me for days, and aside from the hurt and worry I felt, I knew that I was failing to be what she needed. All was resolved, of course, and as I was reassuring her in the aftermath that "There is nothing you could do that will make me stop loving you," I realized that was the key. That's what I'd been missing.
Oh, not that I haven't always felt that way -- of course I do. And I think my children know this, but there's a difference between "rational thinking knowing" and "emotional whirlwind knowing." That's true for most adults, never mind the maelstrom of emotions that is your typical teenager. I had to find a way to turn this into action for her. She needed it, I could tell. Heck, I needed it. I had to find a way, even from so far away.
So one morning I sat down and wrote her a quick email. We were fresh from the recent kerfuffle and I had promised to let her take the lead in our communication, so I titled the email "I lied," and went on to explain that I was okay with her deciding when and how to contact me, and I wasn't going to bombard her with email or anything, but that I had decided I was going to send her one message a day, regardless. "You don't have to respond or even acknowledge it," I clarified. "This isn't about you responding. This is about me being your mama and loving you and wanting to share with you all of the reasons why I find you lovable."
I could tell she was wary. And that was fine. My goal was simply to turn feelings into actions. No expectations, no directives, nothing but love because sometimes, that's what's needed.
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