When a Relationship Changes and You Realise What You Are Feeling is Grief
By: Lizzee Bee
Tags: Self-awareness, Relationships, Love, Grief, Life

The last few days I have felt a very deep and profound sadness which I now recognize as grief.

In actual fact, I have been in a state of turmoil for 3 months or so, caused by some issues with my teenage daughter. Her story to tell, not mine, but needless to say it involves the very stressful stretching of what could be considered as usual teenage rebellion.

After a very intense period of about 6 weeks (the worst time of my life, hands down), life has kind of gone back to normal. But not really at the same time.

Her behavior has left scars on all the family and some of her friends. Relationships have been altered, maybe irreparably. Or at least for a very long time. But I can’t bottle it or press it down any longer.

I have tried to be supportive of her during this time. Empathetic. Even though my heart was breaking and the extent of her lies to other people about her family was breathtaking. The deceit. The dishonesty. The sheer stress involved.

Who was this person?

Why would she do these things to herself and to us?

While I battled through the most intense stage of our nightmare, I held it together most of the time. Being strong for everyone else. Trying to stay calm. Trying to rationalize her behavior.

Taking refuge in long walks. Reading fiction. Daily yoga. Trying so hard not to disappear into a bottle of wine — unfortunately something I have done before.

Where was my emotion?

But occasionally I thought to myself: “Why aren’t I crying? Shouldn’t I be a mess?”

Were my anti-depressants numbing me? Was I kidding myself that things weren’t as serious as they really were? Was I taking some sort of false pride in holding it together for everyone else?

I did cry — once. After she sent me a long, rambling, and hurtful email about all my failings, not only as a mother but also simply as a person.

This from a girl who I thought was loving and kind. Who was always joyful and respectful to family members. Who had lots of friends. Who took pride in her school (where she has been since she was 4 years old) and her achievements. Who always seemed happy to have family dinners, to hang out with her Mum, and go on family holidays.

I understand that girls need to make an emotional and mental break from their mothers at some stage. To define their own identity and become their own woman. I did it to my Mum — I don’t think I spoke to her other than grunts for the whole year that I was 14. But we had got passed that age (she turned 18 last week) and so I thought I was one of the lucky ones that hadn’t suffered the nightmare that some of my friends have had with rude, dismissive and disrespectful daughters.

But now it was my turn and boy oh boy, had she saved it all up for one spectacular shit show.

Back to the email — it was amazingly awful. A punch to the heart which caused physical pain. I deleted the email, but not before I had printed it to tuck away in case I ever felt I needed to prove to myself that it had actually existed.

The trouble with crying sometimes? You can’t stop

Once those floodgates opened, I was on the floor sobbing as if my heart would break. Who was I kidding, it did break.

Irretrievably? No, of course not. She is my daughter after all. But definitely in a way that made me realize I couldn’t go to that place of misery. If I didn’t stop myself from crying — from feeling the piercing pain her words caused — then I didn’t know where I might end up, and I was too afraid to find out.

So I sucked it up. I rationalized her actions in sending her cruel, cruel words. She was hurt, she was lashing out, she is having mental health issues. A lot of her comments were projections of many of her behaviors.

Be strong. carry on.

Things have calmed down now, although they are still far from good. She is seeing a psychologist (good) but still lies and disregards our rules (not good).

We are avoiding confrontations because she has only about 6 weeks now until she sits her final school exams, for uni entrance. She is 18 and her school days will be behind her. She has had an early offer to the degree course she is interested in. All she needs is a “pass” in her core subjects.

Our goal is to get her to that point so that if she decides to maintain her behaviors then we can tell her she can no longer live at home. No more putting up with the “I’m 18 now so I can do what I want” that we have had to put up with just a week into her official adulthood.

And as much as I loathe to say those words (because I know she will use them as a weapon to bestow upon herself the ultimate martyrdom) I realise now that if things don’t change I will need to make that call because I can no longer live like this.

Because what I am feeling is such a profound sense of grief for the girl and the relationship I once had.

Who was I kidding? I am not just “sad” or “confused” or “worried”. I am grieving. I have a wailing ball of misery in my heart and I just want to curl up in a fetal position and sleep for days until I can wake up and discover it was all a bad dream.

Acknowledging the grief

Accepting that it is “grief” I feel and not just sadness or worry has been a revelation and also kind of freeing. It is ok to feel this way. It is normal in fact. It is ok to have days when I look at my beautiful girl, or photos from past happy times and lament mistakes we obviously made, or warning signs we failed to see.

I still want to shake her and scream “Who are you? Why are you doing this?” but I don’t think I should and in fact, I won’t because it may push her further away. So we tippy-toe around her,

So, what next? Self-care I suppose. Trying to stay healthy and accept what has happened, while also seeking out every opportunity to try and help and support her — in her positive behaviors at least.

I have two older boys who have also been scarred and need my love and support, and someone to help them deal with their anger.

We will get through this. We can and we must. For her, and for us.

But we need to heal the grief first.