The Unexpected Grief of Breaking Cycles

Two days ago, I sent my only daughter off on a one-way flight to Spain. She’s doing a language-immersion program for the next month, then backpacking across Europe for a month, before she begins university in the United Kingdom in the fall. The joy and sadness I feel about this is intense. I’m so happy she gets to have these experiences, and I’m so excited for her future. While at the same time, my heart is breaking into a million pieces knowing she’s growing up, moving out, and things will inevitably change between us.

I expected all of these emotions about her leaving the nest, but what I didn’t expect was feeling grief about my own experience of moving out of my parents’ house. As my daughter and I were waiting for her late-night flight, we were hanging out in my hotel room. I asked her if she wanted to lie on the king-size bed with me. She said “yes.” She grabbed her favorite stuffed animal, Billiam, curled up in a fetal position, and snuggled up next to me. With her head in my lap, I held her as she began to softly cry, clutching Billiam for comfort. She looked like my “little girl.” So innocent, so sweet. I began to cry too. I was caressing her arm, holding her to comfort her. It seemed to work, as she stopped crying and snuggled closer to me in silence. As I was thinking about how much I was going to miss seeing her every day, I began to think about how different this experience is for her than it was for me when I moved out of my own parents’ house…

When I moved out of my parents’ house, it wasn’t to have a worldly adventure. It really wasn’t even completely my choice. It was chaotic and stressful to say the least… the reason I had to move out of my parents’ house was that my mom decided she was finally going to divorce my dad after years of abuse and dysfunction. She needed a place to go as he was being served divorce papers and a restraining order. So, I volunteered to get an apartment. The plan was that I would move out of the house (without telling my dad) while he was at work one day, and then my mom and my little sister would stay with me until it was safe for them to return home. And that’s exactly what happened… Without preparation or planning, I signed a lease for an apartment in a neighboring town. My boyfriend at the time and his friends moved my clothes and bedroom furniture out of my room and into my third-story apartment in a couple of hours, then waited for my mom and sister to show up. My mom and I told my sister that night what was happening, that she was filing for divorce. After a couple of days, they were able to return home, and I was left alone in my empty apartment. I didn’t have anything, besides my clothes, my twin-sized bed and dresser… and I didn’t have any money saved either, because I wasn’t planning on moving out when I did. I had to just make it work and figure out how to “be an adult.”

I was already working two jobs at the time, and I was soooooo broke. My boyfriend moved in with me because I didn’t want to be alone. He wasn’t working, so he couldn’t really contribute financially. I would buy a bag of white potatoes for the week, a tub of margarine, and some sour cream, and that’s what I would eat (my boyfriend would usually just go to his mom’s house to eat while I was at work). It was scary and hard. I struggled to pay for my basic essential needs, for a really long time, but somehow I did it…

Now, back to this moment with my daughter… As I sat there and looked at her in her child-like state, receiving comfort from me, her mom, as she was about to embark on her life-changing journey. I realized that the stress she’s feeling about leaving home is nothing like what I felt back then. She’s feeling stressed that I won’t be there to take care of her and comfort her every day, if she needs it… whereas I was stressed that I wouldn’t be able to take care of my mom or myself back then. Even though my daughter is scared of the unknown, she knows I am there to support her, in any way I possibly can, even financially (while she’s in university)… even though she will have to work to support herself while at school, she knows her basic needs will be covered, and she will be free to concentrate on learning her craft and preparing for her future. Whereas I was only able to focus on surviving… There was no future for me, only making sure I had food and shelter each day, and making sure everyone else was okay, too. This realization flooded me with immense sadness… I never felt sadness about leaving my parents’ house. Instead, I just felt stressed and scared of not having enough money to eat or pay my rent. Even though it was hard on my own, I wasn’t sad about leaving my parents’ house at all… I was relieved to be out. It was such a terrible environment to be in that the brink of starvation and homelessness was actually better for my mental health.

This made me really sad for my younger self.

Then, I began to realize I had become the person I needed back then… for my daughter, and for myself. I’m so proud of myself for choosing to do better than my parents did. I could have chosen to repeat their cycles. I could have chosen my own selfish needs over my daughter’s. I could have chosen to make her believe she was incapable of pursuing her dreams by telling her it wasn’t possible, or she wasn’t capable - all of the things that were told to me over and over and over as a child. I could have chosen so many dysfunctional ways to be a parent, but I didn’t… and because of that, my daughter feels safe, loved, and supported enough to spread her wings and fly.

The feelings of gratitude I felt for the mother I chose to become didn’t take away my sadness for younger me, but it did bring up anger towards my parents… which is what happens anytime I compare myself as a parent to my mom and dad. I always hear from people that “You’ll understand and appreciate your parents more as you become an adult, and a parent yourself.” But, that’s literally never happened for me… when I think about my parents and the way they parented… I have to remind myself that they were doing the best they could, but also “What the fuck?!?!” I don’t even understand why they chose to have me at times, other than having kids was what they were “supposed” to do…

Being the cycle-breaker is a constant emotional roller coaster of sadness, usually followed by anger. Then, a cognitive attempt at forgiveness, which never really lands in my heart. So, I move on to gratitude for the person I chose to become because of those experiences… because I want to find the good, otherwise it feels like life is really bad… and it’s not. Then I feel guilty for thinking that I’m a better parent than they were, but the reality is, I am… and living in reality isn’t a bad thing.

I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to completely forgive my parents, but I am thankful for the person I am today. I’m so thankful that I get to watch my daughter live a life completely different from the one I did back then… it heals me in a way. And, I’m thankful for the life that I’ve built for myself. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it… and it’s prepared me to build any life I choose ahead of me. The path I’m on is not the one my parents predetermined for me… It’s the path I’ve co-created with the Divine. It’s Life, Rewritten… a choice to keep the wisdom, but rewrite the ending.

Keep the wisdom…. Rewrite the ending.

With love,

Stacie