when your love language is expletives

My first-born daughter's love language is physical affection. I wonder why life has given her a mother who doesn't like to be touched. I so desperately want to give her the love she needs, and she needs it, oh so desperately. She requests constant confirmation that I haven't changed my mind over how I feel about her. I don't know why. What have I done that this kid does not believe her mother's love is a permanent condition? I thought, I am a pretty conscientious parent -- I have always made an effort to talk about our feelings, good and bad. But, I guess, all my kid wants is to be held every day and even though I would die for my children, giving out hugs is a task requiring great effort where there should be none. My hugs feel mechanical and my daughter comments with amusement over my somatic shortcomings. Nonetheless, she reaches out to be touched every day.

To make things worse, I also have this bad habit of slipping with my language when I care about someone. Combined with my animal-like morning self, I'm a ticking time-bomb in the hours between approximately 6am and 9am. This psycho version of me is no stranger to my kids. When my younger daughter Nini was three years old, she once quietly woke me up with a piece of artwork she delivered to my bedside. 

"What's that?" I inquired.

"This is Mommy - angry in the morning," she explained like it's the most natural thing in the world.

As my kids have grown older, I've become even more relaxed. Too relaxed for someone who doesn't allow cursing in the house. I have developed, like my father when I was a teenager, the double-standard that I, as the parent, am allowed to use crude language when needed, but for the children to use a foul word would be a down-right abomination. Never mind the fact that, from hearsay, I know that my 18-yr-old curses like a sailor when she is with her friends. 

The other day, I yelled at Lee to wash her effin' hands and to eat her effin' french toast already (and, no effin-s but the actual F word were used). Granted, it was before 9 a.m., but who does that?! For all the self-control I can exercise throughout the day - some call me the queen of diplomacy (okay, nobody does, but I'd like to think I am) - in the morning hours, I am pure animal instincts. When the kids were younger, there were times I would simply just growl at them. Like a mother bear, but not in the affectionate way one might imagine this now.

When Lee later reminded me of my schizophrenic behavior in the morning and recommended to perhaps avoid interaction with other people before noon, I went into a bit of guilt-driven introspection. What I emerged with was that, while I may in fact be a different person in the morning who is best left alone to adjust to the waking life, the expletives targeted at my kid earlier in the day were ultimately driven by worry and love. I love my child and she is systematically starving herself into a body that more resembles a victim of famine than an average, athletic American teen from a loving, somewhat middle-class home.

When I presented my theory to her, she rolled her eyes. 

"I think my love language takes the form of expletives," I said.

"Your love language is acts of service, Mom", Lee responded without looking up from her phone.

Okay - so much for today's attempt at self-analysis.

Maybe my daughter does know how much I love her.

covid graduates

Here an article I wrote about my HS senior graduating during covid quarantine measures. Why? Because I didn't get to place this article anywhere (well, I only pitched to two publications, so there is something to be said about my lack of persistence, but let's not get into that).

It's kinda vanilla, now that I'm re-reading it. I guess, some publications like it like that, but is my blog one of them?

Senioritis & Mental Health in the Times of Covid

When my daughter started her senior year in high school last fall, I was prepared that it was going to be easier and more laid back than previous years. I was introduced to the concept of senioritis and that it was an accepted "condition" of any graduating high-schooler. However, the way this is now playing out for students around the country in the midst of the CV-19 induced society pause is a whole other level of laid back.

Both of my teenage daughters sleep until noon these days but are among the kids in their schools who actually rise early. They stay on top of their homework and wake up briefly in the morning to virtually check in, but main operating hours begin in the afternoon and last into the wee hours of the morning. I now go to sleep hours before my kids do. I just can't keep up with them.

My 18-year-old was struggling with anxiety and depression for most of the year and has never been an outdoorsy person. With such predetermined conditions, quarantine restrictions presented an ideal living situation for her. At first, I was worried that the lack of any remaining social contact she was forced to engage in at school was going to plunge her even deeper into depression. Outside of school, she had long immersed herself into self-imposed isolation, a side effect of her idling mood. When one of her favorite teachers died in a tragic accident at the beginning of March, she stayed in bed with the curtains drawn for days.

To my great surprise, however, the situation changed in ways I didn't anticipate.

A few weeks ago, my daughter's mood began to stabilize and I noticed her in relatively good spirits every day. She regained her appetite and responded to my nudges to reach out to her friends. She even joined an online group of students entering her college of choice, making new connections without anyone pushing her to do so. I am not sure what exactly is causing the change in mood, but it is probably a combination of things, the covid-19 lock down being part of the equation, for sure. Because she is now home almost all the time, I can monitor that she eats well, regularly takes a dropper of CBD oil as well as a few pellets of a homeopathic remedy (our chosen alternatives to anxiety meds), and engages in healthy daily structures -- minus the 3a.m. bedtimes, that is. She is also free of any girl drama (an inevitable part of school life, it seems) and spends daily quality time with her sister and me (#familylove). Unlike most of her classmates, she wasn’t upset about missing out on her senior trip or graduation. She was also perfectly happy with not having had to return to school, as was the case for the New York City school system this semester. The only thing she was bummed about was the cancellation of her prom. Surprising - as she does not like to party; surely a side-effect of the cloud over her head all last year.

In a group chat with her classmates, named "covid-graduates", they talk about quarantine challenges and college life uncertainties (besides discussing their food cravings and other random topics). Nobody can assure them of anything. Will college be in person, will it be online, is my scholarship promise still good? I've tried to convince my daughter of taking a gap year as some of her friends have already decided to do, but she thinks it will derail her from her path to higher education.

It's good to see that this kid, who just a few months ago was wondering about the purpose of life, is now looking to the future with what I perceive to be optimism. She just set up her college class schedule for the fall and she was excited about her virtual graduation's speaker line up. The national class of 2020 had the honor to be addressed by Barack & Michelle Obama, Malala Yousafzai, Oprah Winfrey, Jimmy Fallon, Lady Gaga, and many other celebrities.

Star studded or not, one thing is for sure -- this will be a graduation to be remembered.

the ugly face of a mother's love

My relationship with my first-born daughter Lee has been giving me nightmares.

I hate it when my fear whispers into my dreams, wrapping its fingers around my neck, pulling me out into entirely too early morning hours to remind me, as I awake with a gasp, that sh** is out of balance.

Last night, I dreamed that I had yet another argument with Lee, who is now 18 years old. She can vote, she could start her own, independent life, but she is far from it. She is, at heart and in essence, still a child. I don't know what we argued about, but I remember that, once again, I walked away exasperated, recognizing that the only solution to the problem would be for me to care less.

"You know what's the best part about life?" she asked as I walked away.
"What?" I asked with a tone.
"Death,"  she said, effectively taking a hammer to my heart.

I imagine, this dialogue sprang from my fears over thoughts of hopelessness Lee shared when she was deep in depression a few months earlier.

I am not sure whether caring less would be a viable solution.
Aren't we always afraid for the lives of our children?
How can the average mother ever discard the care for her child? Kids become adults, but mothers remain mothers. The problem is that mothers don't usually express their concerns for the well-being of their children with picture book examples of "care taking". Their true love and worry for their kid is often manifested via compulsive micromanagement and an ongoing guilt-trip commentary. I know it from my own mother, who surely loves me more than anything. So why does a mother's care assume this ugly form of condescension and continuous critique?

Even though I know my disapproval of pretty much every one of my teenager's actions isn't helping, the words still leave my mouth, sometimes creating havoc, sometimes disdain, but definitely always - discontent and, probably, a dented self-confidence as I have yet again established that I am superior in my ways of thinking. Forget that my ways may actually be better sometimes (e.g. "yes -- you do, in fact, need to eat real food and can't just have a toddler sized meal once a day and assume that will do in terms of nutrition.") -- it's not the point.

I don't know how to let go. The only way to disengage from this un-motherly behavior would be not to care at all.
The fact that my daughter seems to have issues with food (one can count the things she eats on two hands) is a permanently lodged thorn of concern. She also doesn't regulate her sleep, her electronics use, her insane work load from school, or the general need for physical activity and sun-light. As a result of the mismanagement of all these variables, she often dips back into anxiety and depression.

Maybe she just has to go through all of this to understand the importance of self-care. Maybe she has to hit rock-bottom and pull herself out on her own to learn how to live a good life. But it is hard to simply bare silent witness to this learning process - and if we are lucky, it will be a learning process. The fear in my head not allowing me to STFU is based on all the scary stories out there, how depression can lead to suicide, skipping (or discarding, rather) the whole part of learning and process.

In my dream last night, I didn't respond with care or compassion. I, as in real life, expressed my worry in the form of anger and what I said came out as a dismissive and furious guilt-trip.
Well, if you're going to kill yourself, then I hope you're aware that you are going to be taking not only a sister from your sibling, but also a mother. So you'd be taking at least three lives, not one.

Maybe my nightmare was only a portent of what was to come.
My daughter had been feeling so much better after almost a year and a half of an ever growing anxiety and depression. Finally she seemed to have come out and back into the light. She wasn't scratching her face anymore, she reconnected with her friends, she made us laugh with her bubbly personality every day, and she regained her appetite. But when she returned from her father's house later that day, I realized my dream had been a premonition, or perhaps just an intuitive connection to my child's well-being. She had changed during the few days she spent at her Dad's. She was exhausted and not feeling well. Not feeling well in the way she does when she is dipping deeper into a dark mood. Four days of sitting inside the house doing nothing but stare at a screen did immediate damage to her fragile and only recently recovered well-being.

Now it is up to me to make sure she eats a few nutritious and balanced meals, gets enough sleep, and goes out for social contact and some sun. But, it can't always be me. I have to figure out how to let go and she has to figure out how to take over.

farewell ....and excerpt of my letter to Maia

this will be my last post here. farewell to my readers and thanks for the ones who always came back. problem is that - even though there are 80 million blogs out there, mine seems to - repeatedly - be found and identified by people I know and if you have been reading my blog for a while then you know that I would like to remain anonymous. after all, this is a vent for all my bitch energy...and I don't want it to affect any of the people mentioned in it - namely, Dario (as much as he drives me crazy sometimes). so,..thanks for checking in. there is plenty of old stuff to read (the first entry on this blog even refers to my very first blog - ...i see a pattern here..).
well, chances are I would have started to repeat myself now anyway.

here now my last post. maia is all recovered now, btw. (she/we spent two weeks in the hospital)

wrote this in the hospital. it is part of an ongoing letter I am writing to Maia (whenever I have time). Maia is turning five
January 7, 2007 1:30am

I am sitting here next to you while you are sleeping. We are in the hospital because you have pneumonia and weren’t able to keep down the prescribed antibiotics. Every time we administered them you threw it back up (together with the little food you had eaten.) By the end of the day (Friday – before yesterday) you were so weak, your grandfather (the doctor in the family) ordered us to take you to the hospital immediately. You were brought back to your strength with an IV (full of nutrition) but you had to stay here to receive the antibiotics intravenously, as well. I stayed the night and the morning while your dad came for the afternoon into the early evening. Nayla is not allowed on this floor because you are in the infectious disease ward for kids – nice, huh? ;)

Anyway, this is your second night. If we were in the US right now this would probably cost us thousands of Dollars – but we are still here in Austria and it is all part of the free health insurance.
However, as great as the social net might be here (education is free, too…that’s gonna hurt once you go to college – and you BETTER go to college!;) ) we are still planning to return to New York City. It’s a long story but to make it short: I have no more job (first I quit, took it back, but then we actually separated in consensual terms), the tenants in our NY apartment are still not paying, and we are out of options (i.e. money).
We were in NY for a few days over x-mas (you and I), for I had to go to court because of the tenant issue (unfortunately, the judge dismissed the case due to a formality and we have to start all over again, trying to get these people, who are feeding off of our savings, out of our house.) Anyway, you loved being back at your old school and seeing your old friends, so I think (hope) you’ll be happier growing up in the U.S.

Just do me one favor, darling …. Please, please don’t become one of them. What do I mean by that? I mean, please don’t become a statistic. Please don’t become the "average"(?) teenage girl, driven by superficiality and the pressure of what other kids might think of her; who gives sex as if it doesn’t matter at all, who has no self-esteem and doesn’t consider oral sex – well, sex, who cuts herself, tries any drug because everyone else is or who lies as if it were an athletic discipline.

I highly doubt that you will be any of these things, for you are already very defined in who you will be – a strong, sweet, very smart and independent woman. However, I did want to bring to your attention of what fears I carry around with me already (and you are not even five, yet). What I have to remember, and you, too, is also that…NO MATTER WHAT….I will always love you. But, I tell you one thing: honesty is one of my most highly valued principles and that will really always win you the big plus points.

I am probably not supposed to tell you this (especially, since I have no idea when I will be giving you this letter) but just so that you know, I have also been young once and I have learned some things the hard way (or sometimes, I just got lucky….and not everyone can be lucky all the time, so I’d prefer you’d be smarter than I).
One of the worst things I probably ever did was to have unprotected sex. “Just got carried away in the moment” (and mind you, I was 19 already, when I lost my virginity).
Giving in because there is no condom available at the moment is probably THE DUMBEST thing you could do, for the consequences are life-changing. I realized this afterwards, when I was scared to death about pregnancy (your grandmother got pregnant when she was 15 - granted she was a hippie, too...you know...free love and all - but I always was under the impression she felt like she missed out on her youth. Heck, I feel like I missed out and I got pregnant at 26…intentionally! ;)). Anyway, what scared me even more, of course was the fear of having caught AIDS. I was lucky but I didn’t forget those months of fear and that horrible week of waiting for my blood results.
One night is enough. And I could have thrown it all away in that one night.

Ach, it all sounds so dry and cliché when I am writing it down like this and, I guess, you have to learn a lot from your own experiences but just USE your brain and always try to THINK AHEAD, when you do questionable things.

I probably don’t have to tell you about any of these things, for you are a lot like me (careful, thoughtful, never forgetting what you have learned or are being warned of). Unfortunately, growing up without my mother, there were a lot of things I wasn’t warned of, so I had to figure that out by myself. Men and boys for example. A whole story to itself. [I wonder, if my mother has figured that out herself, actually...]

Other things most teenagers think about (but the smart ones hopefully will not consider seriously, for it’s almost as dumb as having unprotected sex):
> suicide (there was a brief time in my life when I thought that would be the easiest way out (until I lived through the suicides of several other friends and realized how sad it would be to throw a life away, which surely won’t always be this dreadful and bad).

> running away (I had whole trips completely planned out – my favorite escape route lead to Canada).

> dropping out of school (I was sixteen when I fought my dad about that issue – I wanted to become either an auto mechanic or a carpenter – HA!) ….

Things I (thankfully) wasn’t ever weak enough to get into: any drugs other than a bit of pot (never got drunk, never took a trip, nothing…and no, I am not a lame prude. Well, what can I say - I am a control-freak, which I am sure you know by now. ;) ….Losing control of my body and mind, would just have been a nightmare for me.
(so, if you ever think you have to do any of this sh*t – make sure you do your research and don’t do it alone….but I prefer, you DON’t …and I can tell you loads of stories why you shouldn’t and why I ultimately didn’t do it…. But to give you a quick glimpse: I once knew a guy who walked around talking to his darts…and all he had done is taken one trip that just messed up his brain somehow…and he kept on having flash-backs.) But given the fact of how much of a control freak you are already (at the tender age of 4), I think, I might not have to fear you going into this stuff either.

So, now that I’ve gotten some of the sex and drugs (I am leaving out Rock n’ Roll) talk into this letter, I guess, I am going to have to give this thing a PG rating. I wonder what this will have to be. Judging from all the stories I hear it would have to be a PG-13, as much as I would like it to be a PG-17….or let’s be honest, a PG-21. ;)

And just so you know where this is all coming from right now: I have been like a sponge about teenage girlhood ever since you were born. Books and movies that have unsettled me: “Thirteen” (movie), “Queen bees and Wannabees” (book – and “Mean Girls”, the movie it was turned into), “The Tenth Circle” (book, I just finished), and countless articles, stories from friends and colleagues, and real-life encounters with today’s teenage kind. ;)

So, dare to be different, baby. Be who you are and not who others expect you to be.

Love you. Love you. Love you.
(and for now – at this moment – get well, so that I can take you home!)
PS: can you give that whole (unprotected) sex, drugs, and other stupidities section to your sister, too? I might copy it over to her letter later but right now it is getting really late and my eyes are falling shut (the doc is going to wake us in a few hours – to give you the next antibiotic shot).