Most of us have lived long enough to know that in the vast majority of the time, when people declare something as the truth, veiled lies can sometimes lurk. But occasionally, it’s what people don’t say that rings the truest. And indirectly, it’s what people don’t do that demonstrates their words truly. We all have the ability to sense a disturbance in The Force or an unanticipated nuance that something unquantifiable is present. We call it the gut. Many have learned to trust this as their barometer of truth. This, I try to impress upon my daughter that her gut—her feelings—are her truths.
My daughter can be quite emotive and is already recognizing her own ability to read situations. She knows when her friends are lying. Or her spidey senses prompting caution. She also knew from very early on that her childhood boyfriend was way more needy and she had expected the relationship wasn’t sustainable weeks before it ended. And if she’s astute enough to read these situations, she’s fluent in reading the moods of the two people she spends the most time with: me and her mom.
My daughter has long felt her mom’s deficiency of support for her when it comes to the things she, the child, wants to pursue. It was confirmed again when the mom dropped her off at the swimming pool but didn’t stay to watch her qualify. Gone are the Covid days when parents couldn’t stay and spectate their children in swim lanes. As my daughter swam, she’d look up at the stands to search for the silhouette of her mom through waterlogged goggles. She was so happy that she swam her heart out and qualified. After team and coach congratulations, and a long hot shower, she came out with muted excitement. Eventually, she asked to confirm if ‘mom had left.’ I confirmed that she had. There was nothing I could say to soften the abandonment. It was this very moment I witness my daughter’s psychological anguish manifest into physical distress.
It is unfortunate that my daughter’s lesson of learning to trust her feelings is sometimes paired with such negative memories. But I guess that what makes these hard lessons unforgettable.
I saw her eyes water. I held her close. She couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Then I said, “It’s too bad your mom missed this moment, but it changes nothing. You did this for yourself. Your team and coaches cheered you on and you were never alone on-deck. I’m here for you now and immensely proud of you. Always.” She cried harder still. We said nothing. After a few minutes, she composed herself. We drove to dinner before going home—me in quite concentration, her in post-qualification fatigue.
Two things happened that night. My ex-wife missed another supporting moment. It’s a slippery slope that the mom is already having a difficult time trying to climb. I will never know how strongly she wants this. The second thing that happened is what my daughter said at dinner. “It was mom’s choice not to stay. I kinda knew she wouldn’t.” I thought about all this on our ride through the city. It is unfortunate that my daughter’s lesson of learning to trust her feelings is sometimes paired with such negative memories. But I guess that what makes these hard lessons unforgettable.
As I put her to bed that night, I asked if she wanted to talk to mom about any of this. She shook her head with confidence this time. “It won’t change any anything.” We read a story, I kissed her on the forehead and told her, “I’m proud of you.” Thanks daddy. I’m glad you were there. “That’s not what I was referring.” She was puzzled at first, and then understood. She fell asleep almost instantly.
