A Letter to My Daughter

I often write letters to my children, not so much for them to read now, but as a living memory of their childhood.  Last week I felt a sudden and intense urge to write to my growing daughter, Ella.  I really wanted to share it here, because while I did write it specifically for her, I think the message is universal.  Isn't this what all mothers want for their daughters?  Shouldn't these wants and worries be a birthright?  Shouldn't opportunity, potential and hope be part of all our lives?  So, today I post it here, as a reminder of the beauty and responsibilty in raising our daughters, both in our homes and in the world.  And to the gifts we receive everyday.

Dear Ella

I watched you skip up the street today. Off to your friend's house, off for some carefree play, off to visit the world that is right outside our door. It was my intention to be sure you crossed the road safely and I watched from the window as you disappeared in the distance, right before my eyes. I was suddenly too aware. The world slowed and I got to watch. The need to stay and be present took my breath. I didn't move. I watched your messy ponytail swing back and forth as you hurried. Your clothes so deliberately imperfect, winter boots with a summer dress, tights torn, gloves mismatched. You argued for no hat, you surrendered to a jacket. I thought of your face, kissed with chocolate smudges from an after school treat. I was suddenly glad I didn't take the time to wash it. You ran fast and steady and I noticed how strong and able you have become. Your independence and charisma blossoming each day, I thought of the words you have learned to write, the friends you have made, the books you are reading, your sense of self evolving. I thought about the ways you are like me. I thought about the ways we couldn't be anymore different. And in these moments, I realized that time was passing. You, my sweet daughter, are a baby no more. I stood still, feeling the shift. Indeed, girlhood is upon you.

Filled with emotion, I wonder, where will you run to? Where will you go? Will you know to arrive as yourself? I think of all the things I want to teach you. All of the ways I want you to be strong and fierce, gentle and kind, open and true. I love that you often abandon politeness to laugh out loud. I love that you risk pushing buttons to get your own way. I love that you aren't attached to ideas of what's better, cooler, or ideal. But you somehow notice everything – what earrings, shirt, pocketbook everyone is wearing. I love that you call people beautiful. And your judgment is based entirely on how they act, not what they look like. I love that you used to show off in front of your older brothers' friends. But now you feel entitled to be included, share your input, certain you have a very firm place on this planet. I love that shy, sure, and sassy can be rolled up into one human being. And I want to bottle it.

I mind that I have noticed the rumblings of struggle – hurt feelings, fitting in, uncertainty – the inevitable trials of growing up. I mind that as you are pushing just six years old, boys have become a giggly part of your life. And you seem to like the “busy” ones. I mind that with your sparkling blue eyes, long lashes, and knowing smile, you have already been deemed by perfect strangers as “trouble” during your teenage years. I mind that the reality of a changing body, shifting emotions, and school dances are in our five year plan. I mind that the world has certain ideas for you, simply because you were born a female. I will spend my life working to undo this, but the media and messages outside of our home will undoubtedly creep in and have influence. I mind that everyday that passes, you slowly grow away from me - so carefully I could miss it - and that's the way it's supposed to be.

I wonder, as I watch you vanish up the road, if you know on a cellular level that you belong to a line of women that are strong, maternal, determined, active, compassionate, hilarious, smart, and born to get things done. I wonder when you'll realize that princesses are pretend and the real heroines live in your DNA. I hope that your level, kind, creative, honest, and loyal Daddy gives balance to the well of intense feminine energy before you. I imagine you neutralizing bullies and queen bees, while blending with all crowds, free of judgment, just like the man who loved you first. I hope you don't think women need to suffer to succeed, and that success is determined for you, by you. I hope you know how we celebrated you before you were even born, and how you brought love like no other. I am certain that the world will unfold in wonderful ways before you, simply because you are you.

But today, what I want more than anything else, is for you to run and play. I want you to make mud pies and swing high. I want you to have secret clubs and build forts. I want you to dump out buckets of toys and practice your cartwheels. I want you to draw pictures and play hopscotch. I want you to beg for a sleepover and extra snacks. I want you to feel alive with girlhood, proudly embracing one of life's greatest gifts, without even knowing. I secretly wish I could take your hand and run too. I wish we could be children together, lost in play, alive with freedom, bonded in the sisterhood of childhood. But on this day, I will let you go. Go on, my girl, see what's out there, feel your way, delight in all that innocence. For tomorrow and each day that follows, it changes. But one thing always remains. I will stand. I will watch. I will stop. I will always be there. And however it may seem, you will not ever, ever walk this road alone.

I love you.

Love,

Mommy