Letters to my daughters (April): EMERGE

My darling girl

There’s one constant in parenting. And that is change.

You came into the world, and moment by moment, you began to develop and emerge and change. And when you came into the world, you also changed me and the world I inhabited. As you emerged, I too emerged – and not just as a mother, but as someone familiar though thoroughly new. Unpredictable, often fast-paced and continuous, this parallel emergence is both terrifying and precious.

But before I go on, I owe you an apology. And I’m sorry it’s taken so long.

It goes back to being outside our home when you were quite small. And you were struggling to say hello to a neighbour who was trying to connect with you. You turned your head and hid. I thought: ‘oh dear’. I felt embarrassed that you couldn’t find the courage to say hello back.

I apologise my darling, because you simply were not ready. At that moment, outside our home, I was wishing you to be something other than you were. I was rushing you to emerge, from behind my legs, and do ‘the right thing’.

But you are YOU. Wonderful, beautiful, perfectly emerging, YOU.

You were not ready to come out yet. Your shoots had not yet reached the surface. You were not ready to be visible, to be seen. And that’s ok; that’s exactly as it should have been.

I apologise because I know the dangers of being rushed, or forced into another’s expectations of me – feeling the shame of not being able to perform or keep to the rules. Too often have I felt the need to squeeze myself into other people’s edges – my own edges chipped away at; not sure what borders are breached in the process.

Sometimes, those stories of how we should be are very strong, like a current you can’t see from the shore. Taking us under. Sometimes, we can’t see how far we have been swept away from own perfection, as we drift, trying to shape ourselves into other versions of what we should or shouldn’t be. It can take courage to resist those forces.

Don’t let those stories demand that you emerge before you are ready, my darling. Know that it is better to wait. I should have be celebrating your courage to remain hidden outside our house that time, biding your time, rather than judging your awkwardness to be seen. And in that, I learn too. 

Pause.

Of course, a few years on from that moment outside the house, and you now are confident and chatty – you have learned in your own way, how to connect with others.  And I feel we are going through another metamorphosis at this point – we are emerging together again.

Maybe it is the result of our post-covid recovery –the passing of, the acknowledgement of, the deep-set stress and worry that the last two years have caused. (By jiminy I’m glad that’s lessened, but what has it left in its wake?) We are feeling the spring sun on our skin and the warm embrace of others. Our shoots are heading to the light.

Maybe it’s a developmental shift – a new phase, chapter, or understanding between us as your brain develops and mine, well, tries to keep up. ‘The days are long, but the years are short’ they say. Time appears to be whizzing by and if I stopped to notice, I might just fall apart.

But whatever it is – it is change. We are emerging, blinking our way, into new territory: of negotiations, of emotional outbursts, of newfound independence and friendship. I can’t seem to keep track of the external forces at play here… all I know is that they are strong.

And those forces – the rain, the sun, the winds in your life – shape you, and encourage you to emerge from the inside, out. Smoothed out here, reinforced there. Whilst I can do my best to hold back the most polluting of those forces, I cannot shape how you respond from the inside.

All I can do is watch you emerge. And notice what is emerging in me in parallel.

I don’t always know what to do or what to say. It’s like someone keeps bringing out a new game to play, but I haven’t had a chance to read the rules yet. I’m making it up as I go along, and often feel one step behind. As you grow, I grow too.

The only constant is change. Beautiful, chaotic, terrifying change. 

So let’s go slow. Let’s see how the land lies, shall we? Let’s see what this new change demands of us – and feel our way together towards the shore again – where we can fill our own edges and feel firmer ground beneath our feet. 

With love from,

Your Mummy (a constant work in progress) x