I keep having this vision of my daughter, who’s four right now, walking across a grassy lawn into a dorm building. She has long blonde hair and a duffel bag thrown over her left shoulder and she’s not turning around for reassurance or even a goodbye. As she walks, my mind is racing with all the things that I failed to tell her during the 18 years that I had her at home. Life lessons. Warnings. Tips. Advice. It’s like anxiety in the worst degree to jump ahead 14 years and anticipate the regrets I may face. The thought of her being anything but the snugly little mini-me in Rapunzel pjs and a messy side ponytail brings a literal lump into my throat.
I keep replaying this scene for some reason. And it’s interesting that it’s her, not either of my sons. Like it or not, we parent all of our children in slightly different ways. But my daughter...I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel the need to coach her in a very specific way and not waste a minute that I have.
It all started three days ago, on Friday night. My husband took her to her first daddy daughter dance and I saw a glimpse of her nature that I’d never seen before. She was incredibly giddy to get ready. She squealed as I pulled her new, sparkly dress over her head, smoothing the flowy hems and fastening the button on her neck just below her hairline. Her excitement was palpable and this was not the new thing that I saw in her. She jokingly suggested that she wear her pink princess heels, the ones that are slippery and clunky and only meant for costume play. Then she stood perfectly still as I curled her hair. She winced at the warmth from the curls whenever I dropped them onto her neck, so I blew on them to reassure her fear with each new set of curls.
When I finished, she looked in the mirror in a new way. Instead of a pure and joyful twirl, she rotated slowly one way to look herself over. Then the other way. She was, maybe for the first time ever, checking over her “appearance”. I asked her if I could put some bobby pins in her hair and she curtly spun around, squinted up at me and left the bathroom without an answer. But I knew what she meant. She didn’t need me anymore. She was looking for a new reassurance. A new approval.
I recognized myself in her quest. A need for approval that was hyper-focused on herself. For the next twenty minutes, she continued to ignore my attempts to help her pick out real shoes and take pictures of her all dressed and ready to go. I was no longer the one she sought to please. When my husband arrived home, she dazzled him. She spun in a circle, batted her eyes and even blatantly asked him, “Do you think I look beautiful?” It was obvious that his approval of her appearance was her primary source of worth and validity. His response had the power to build her up or tear her completely down. I was so thankful when he affirmed her in ways besides how she looked.
It seems cute when they’re four and their approval is pointed at their daddy. But in ten years, this same desire for approval will look much different. It will become an obsession for most, if not all, of our daughters and will last a decade or more of their lives.
“Am I good enough?” “Do you accept me?"
"Will you tell me I'm valuable?"
So I’m vowing to proactively teach my daughter the source of her identity.
Looking ahead, I honestly have no idea how to do that, except to reinforce every single day that her value comes from the truth that her King, Jesus loved her enough to lay down his life to save her. I think it also looks like fighting against the idea that she determines or controls her own value. Basically, she’s not to bank on the idea that she’s anything special. She means the world to me, but her value is not in what I think of her. Her father would lasso the moon for her, but that doesn’t define her self worth. Because when she’s a teenager and she doesn’t necessarily care how we feel, she’ll look elsewhere for that cup filling that she’s been getting from us during her childhood.
She must believe her value to be unshakably rooted in how much God loves her.
But still, the questions will come. The measuring up will surely take place. The comparisons. The vanity. The uncertainties.
And so repeating truth must take place. Truth built on a foundation that was laid in the early years, when it would have been easy to be satisfied with her desire to just please me.
Releasing our daughters into this world seems terrifying. Just like you’ve probably done, I’ve read all the articles and watched the videos about how this world has changed more in the past five years than any other time period. I’ve heard the warnings about social media and girls. The dangers of putting a smart phone in the hands of our adolescent daughters. Mamas of girls (and boys too, really) we have no choice but to think about these things proactively. We can’t wing it. We can’t live in fear, but we can’t afford not to anticipate.
Last Friday night, she came home to me. She asked her daddy to leave the dance early because she missed her mommy and her stuffed bunny. For now, she’s come back and she has been her sweet and silly self, interested in helping me cook dinner and letting me kiss the bridge of her nose pretty much anytime I want. She is hands down my favorite girl in the world. The girl who asks me for 45 snacks a day and whose biggest complaint is that I got her the wrong spoon for her Cheerios in the morning. The girl who watches me get ready for church on Sundays and always exclaims proudly how beautiful I look. The girl who reaches her arms out as wide as they can go and asks me “do you know how much I love you mommy?” Then she moves her arms behind her back so that her hands are touching.
Yes, it would be easy to rest in my own ability to build her up. But it’s time for truth too. Because that moment on the college lawn is not going to be easy for me. And there won’t be any room for regret.