An Open Letter to My Tween Daughter

On the decade that was and the one that is to come

Tomorrow is my daughter’s 10^th birthday.  She’s landing in double digits.  Right smack in the middle of tween territory.  Today’s piece will be an open letter to her – to the person she already is and to the woman I know she will become.  Parenting my daughter has been an ongoing adventure in reverse parenting myself.  It may always feel that way.  I hope so.  She brings me closer to me. 

Dear sweet daughter,

Today you turn 10 and what I want you to know is that you were designed to be you. From the moment you came into this world, you were destined to be.  This next decade will be a wild ride.  Rest easy within yourself.  You will hear a lot about self-care.  You will care a lot about others’ opinions of you.  What I hope you indulge in is self-love.  Show the world who you are – without the fear of being too prideful, too much. 

Today you will receive gifts from others.  I want you to know what a gift YOU are TO others.  One of the many gifts that is uniquely yours is your habit of noticing.  To notice is an art. Driving around town, I’ll glance in the rear-view mirror and see you gazing out as the streets whiz by, listening to lyrics of the song we are playing - letting it rest on you.   On the basketball court, you have a natural talent for seeing the floor - the opportunities to make great passes. At the end of the day, when you and I reunite you see me, truly. You will glance at me and already know before words are spoken. From my eyes - you intuit when I’ve had a tough day despite any smile I try to plaster on my face. This is a skill many lack.  You are an empath, and this world needs more empathy.  More noticing.  Honor this - it will lead you to discovery. Keep unwrapping the gift that is you.

Soon you will be holding a phone in your hand and that phone will yield so much power.  It will try to steal that innate gift you were born with - noticing.  The device will alter your lens. It will strip your attention away from the real breathing, beating lives around you – a tar pit of distraction in which you will sink. It will pull you into a funhouse of comparison and I fear you will get locked in there.  Just remember to look away and look up.  Don’t get lost in the carnival of distortion. 

Reels, filters, likes and snaps will replace the cartwheels, dribbling, and imagining that fill your hours now.  When you find me staring at you it is my attempt to soak it all in and preserve it.  I will long to get these small moments back.   Nostalgia can be so bittersweet. After a day together, my dad (your  Pa) would say “this will go down in my heart’s memory bank. I’m making a deposit today.” I am saving up big right now. I know the currency will change. You will still give me daily gold. It will just feel like a different kind of transaction. Perhaps from a quieter distance.

Please remember - sometimes courage is simply standing still and not running away. Sometimes saying no to what all your friends are saying yes to is the brave thing.  And it is ok to take risks.  Don’t let your comfort zone get too narrow.   Too comfortable.  Behind the door of discomfort, you will often find real growth. 

It’s ok to accept flaws and mistakes. In yourself and in others you care about.

I hope you dance.  Dance in the duality of perfection (high standards) and imperfection (mistakes).  You can hold both.  Balancing both may be your life’s work as a woman.  That is ok.

I want you to know that you have what it takes to unearth every potential inside you. No one else can plant that in you.  Separate the accolades you receive from the outside and look inward.   How do you feel about your efforts?  No coach, friend, teacher or parent can hand you your potential or squeeze it out of you. That’s an inside job.  I will stand witness all the days to come and watch you unleash that gorgeous potential only you can unearth.  I will help you dig to find it but only you can pull it from the roots.

My job as your mom is to unlock you, not mold you.  Everything you can be - it’s already there. It’s already yours. I can’t give it to you.

Please remember your worthiness is not based on what others apprehend with their eyes.

You may spend decades trying to control and contour your body.   I want you to question why smallness is the goal. Make yourself big in all the bountiful ways. Resist the pressures to shrink your body, your mind, your opinions.

I watch you decadently eating sherbet or salt and vinegar chips, and I wonder, will this be the year you’ll turn to salads and calorie counting. I want to guide you towards healthy eating. Moderation. Nourishment - not deprivation or restriction. But the truth is I struggle there too. It’s a battle most women fight their whole lives. I wish you the freedom to believe your body doesn’t require work. If you’re going to fall victim to the waves of hyper vigilance that pervades womanhood, may your focus fall on health and not vanity. May you stay in touch with your body. May you not use your body as the vehicle you ride in and manipulate, contort, or deprive out of a fear of losing control. May you prioritize metabolizing emotions over calories.

Someday you may choose to be a mom. Please be prepared for the expectations that follow.  After giving birth you will be thrown into the rite of passage titled “Getting your body back”. How to lose that “baby weight.” People will comment “wow you look great” in place of the sentence you really need to hear, “how are you? How is motherhood treating you?”

Please remember that you cannot control your body with your brain. Your body has its own intelligence. To tap into it, you must slow it down. It will always communicate with you.

Your body is not a machine to be mastered and controlled. It is a map to all the emotions you have stored inside it. That map, if you follow it, will guide you to the safest home you can know. Your soul.

You have always been a deeply feeling creature.   Let those emotions come out. Because when they get stuck, clouds show up. And when the clouds drift in, slowly you’ll stop feeling like yourself.

In some seasons you will feel like a passenger in your own body.  When this happens, trust that it is ok for your body to be the driver. If you frantically reach for the wheel and grip it fiercely, your body will find ways to turn on you.  It will go off road, off course.  You will feel aches and illness. The vehicle will run out of gas and you’ll have no idea how to fill up the tank. If you let your body drive and take over the wheel, you’ll have a lifetime of fuel. And when you feel empty, you’ll know where to return to fill up again.

I am so excited to watch you enter this next decade. This letter is my invitation to you to ask me all the things. Your ten your old eyes and brain may not understand everything I am trying to convey here. I will show you this letter again and again when you look lost. Child of mine, your future is bright. And so is this moment and the next. And tomorrow. And your 11th birthday. And All of it in between.

**

May you stay thirsty. May you stay a noticer. May you stay remarkably you.

(** Future is one of the many gorgeous poems in this book from the impeccable Maggie Smith**)

I hope you enjoyed this letter. The very first time I felt the courage to share my writing publicly was because of /for my daughter. You can read that piece here.

If you liked this post from Dare to Be Dry, please spread the word by forwarding it to someone you love.  I welcome shares and would love to expand my readership.

Also, I’d love to hear from you, either in the comments or by email.