The Power of the Written Word
Last night, my daughter found herself in some trouble.
Make that double trouble. Because during her reprimand, she let her emotions get the best of her and, as she is prone to do, got sassy.
She found herself alone upstairs in her room for the evening. She’s too young to realize it, but alone time is probably what she needed all along.
This morning, she presented me with a card she had made. And I could just imagine her, sitting up in her room, contrite and sad and angry and all alone with the weight of her conscience.
It read:
Such a poignant expression of her feelings – words both vulnerable and brave. But that’s my girl. Like me, her pencil becomes her instrument of self-expression. Like the time, during a particularly frustrating round of homework, she wrote and then erased “I’m trying. Really hard.” Like her journal entries I happened to stumble upon as I was looking for paper for her brother, which state how proud she is of her brothers, how excited she is for her best friend and how much she loves her family. The things she would never say out loud, but I know she wants to.
She watched me read the card with anticipation and worry. We hugged and I assured her she was forgiven.
I hope that, one day, she’ll read this and understand how much that note meant to me and how much she means to me. I hope she will see why I've written this blog, which is my own way of processing and documenting my feelings, concerns and joys. And I hope she and her brothers will be able, through my words, to understand just how much I love them.
And how I understand her so much more than she thinks I do.
Make that double trouble. Because during her reprimand, she let her emotions get the best of her and, as she is prone to do, got sassy.
She found herself alone upstairs in her room for the evening. She’s too young to realize it, but alone time is probably what she needed all along.
This morning, she presented me with a card she had made. And I could just imagine her, sitting up in her room, contrite and sad and angry and all alone with the weight of her conscience.
It read:
"I LOVE you Mommy. Just pretend that that never happened and will you forgive me?"
Such a poignant expression of her feelings – words both vulnerable and brave. But that’s my girl. Like me, her pencil becomes her instrument of self-expression. Like the time, during a particularly frustrating round of homework, she wrote and then erased “I’m trying. Really hard.” Like her journal entries I happened to stumble upon as I was looking for paper for her brother, which state how proud she is of her brothers, how excited she is for her best friend and how much she loves her family. The things she would never say out loud, but I know she wants to.
She watched me read the card with anticipation and worry. We hugged and I assured her she was forgiven.
I hope that, one day, she’ll read this and understand how much that note meant to me and how much she means to me. I hope she will see why I've written this blog, which is my own way of processing and documenting my feelings, concerns and joys. And I hope she and her brothers will be able, through my words, to understand just how much I love them.
And how I understand her so much more than she thinks I do.
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