I Want My Daughter To See Me. I write to my four-year-old daughter…
By: Marguerite Pierce
Tags: Transparency, Journaling, Mortality, Motherhood, Conscious Parenting

Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

I write to my four-year-old daughter, Simone, a few times a month, using an email address I set up for her three years ago.

It’s more everyday stories about our lives rather than big milestone moments. I do not want them retold from some future viewpoint when my mindset and circumstances have changed.

The inspiration came from a Reddit post; I can’t remember which one, but the suggestion stuck with me.

Simone will get access to this account when she is 18 years old. If I die before then, I have instructed my husband and sister to grant her access when she is ten years old. I think by that age, Simone should grasp the concept of some of the things I’ve already shared.

I want her to have access to the things I’ve left unsaid or insights that come to me after the fact. I want to give her a peek behind the curtain. As parents, we tend to shield our children from a lot of the daily stress we experience, the wrong decisions, the screw-ups, or failed attempts. We can appear to be these omniscient beings who always know what to say or do to make them feel better, who know how to cut their sandwiches just right or whip up the perfect cup of hot cocoa.

In her book, The Conscious Parent, Dr. Shefali Tsabary explains the value of parents being fallible, as it prevents the child(ren) from having to live up to perfection.

“When our children experience us as always ‘in the know’ always there with a perfect solution or a correct opinion, they grow up believing they need to be the same way. Uncomfortable with our imperfections and resistant to exposing our flaws, we teach them to disguise their imperfections and overcompensate for their weaknesses. What they need to learn is that perfection is an ideal of the foolish.”

She continues, “By laughing at our errors and readily admitting your insecurities, you remove yourself from the pedestal of wonder. Setting aside hierarchy, you encourage your children to relate to you as human-to-human, spirit-to-spirit.”

I’m doing what Dr. Shefali describes by writing to Simone. My actions follow suit as well: I apologize for raising my voice. I shout “Oopsie daisy!” when I’ve made a mistake like forgetting a fork just as I sat down at the dining table. I explain why I’m frustrated about the printer not working when I desperately need it or cry in front of her and describe why I’m sad to the best of her comprehension and vocabulary.

I want her to remember my voice, face, hugs, and love. I want her to laugh, cry, and nod her head in both understanding and disbelief as she pores through each email. I want her to not only know me as her mom but as another human who is figuring it all out as each day passes. I do not have a crystal ball or a solution for every problem. I want her to know about the many times I winged it, and it worked. And even those times when it didn’t — it’s the effort, creativity, courage, and persistence that count.

There’s another reason why I write to Simone. It’s an attempt to control our mortality. I am memorializing these mundane and trivial moments to create an extended memory bank. This control helps keep these otherwise fleeting memories alive for one another in case of our untimely passing.

I email recordings of our bedtime stories and conversations, photos of lazy Sundays, videos of silly singing and dancing. I write to her about the toy she’s obsessing over during any given month, along with whatever nonsensical and humorous saying she uttered one afternoon.

It’s also about preserving the present. Time has moved exponentially since the birth of my daughter. I look back at her baby pictures and think, “did I kiss her enough then?” “maybe I could have gotten in one more hug or one more squeeze of those chunky legs.” I’m creating a living and breathing time capsule. A continuous grief process occurs as your child becomes older and wiser, and more independent. There is a longing for what used to be while excited for the present and anticipating the future. I want these letters to provide context to all the photos, videos, and voice notes. I want to give context and insight into concepts that Simone may currently be too young to grasp — the Black Lives Matter movement, Kamala Harris as Vice President, the fumbling of the coronavirus pandemic, to name a few.

I hope to remain consistent in sharing pieces of myself with Simone. I’m also curious as to how this will all be received by her. Only time will tell.