The Emotions of Motherhood

* I wrote this yesterday and didn't give myself the time to bring it to the blog. This morning I am feeling much better, but I find it important to share just the same. * 

I pick it up.

A journal of inspirational prompts.

I started it yesterday.

Smiling. Answering. Knowing.

Today I know nothing.

I started off the day feeling enough.

I sit here at 3:30pm, wondering where I went wrong.

My child is my heart.

She holds a piece of it in her own.

And so I wonder how it could be, again, that *I* have failed her. That *I* have not instilled a strong enough love of reading in her.

Me.

Someone with enough books to fill my own library.

And she - 10 - reading only graphic novels.

In her own time. They say.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

And I WILL accept that. Whether she does or doesn't.

But then.

The lack of order.

Have I failed her again?

With my piles of paper and bins of clutter?

With my inability to throw anything away.

Have I molded her so - that she will - in essence - BE ME - in years to come?

There is so much good in me. I know there is. And it would be a blessing to see those qualities surface in her. Some I already see.

Others terrify me.

Will she experience ...

anxiety?
self-loathing?
being ostracized?
feeling alone?

Will she look in the mirror and tear herself apart?

Will she only take selfies because - - Just. Because.

Mothering a daughter is so very hard.

I want her to fly. I know sometimes she'll fall. Both are okay. Acceptable. And yet.

Terrifying.

How can I remind myself that she is not me?

She is not destined to experience all that I have, but all that she is meant to.

And I'll stand beside her. Behind her. Holding her hand or letting go.

And I'll watch her soar.

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