If I had a daughter / A confession

Sometimes there are things on our mind that simply can’t stay there, that need approval or at least recognition. Lately there have been two things on my mind that I’ve been trying to work into conversation, but it was never quite right. So here, as a sort of emotional outlet, is my new post.

For the first thing you ought to know that I don’t want children: There are too many People on this earth and my genes are really not that precious so that I’d have to pass them on. Also, giving birth is painful and one day all the child will want is the newest IPhone (or whatever is in). It is a huge responsibilty and I think many people don’t realise just how much of a responsibilty they heed for this other human being, physically as well as emotionally, psychologically. The only thing I could ever imagine doing is to adopt. After all, there are plenty of parentless children that need a home.

Anyhow the other day I was in the library – I used to go there a lot when I still lived in Switzerland – and I saw a young girl with her father, picking out a book for herself.

That’s when it started. I thought; if I had a daughter…

…I’d take her to the library every month so she could spend a bit of time there and pick out a book for herself every time. I’d want her to value the feel, the smell and the worth of books in a digital world.

…I’d tell her she could grow her hair really Long, but I’d convince her to cut it all off at one point and donate it. That way, hopefully, she’d be different from all those girls who cause much ado about nothing when having to cut their hair by 1 cm, she’d learn that vanity isn’t everything – and short hair can look good too.

…at the same time I’d teach her to be confident, not only in her body, but herself, her personality, her intellect, her choices.

…I’d make sure she knew that humans come in all shapes and sizes and that however curvy or however skinny she’d turn out, that’s what a woman looks like.

…I’d listen to her if she ever came to me with problems, I’d give her the feeling she could always come to me if something  bothered her, I’d take her seriously, I wouldn’t say “Never mind” to her, because even though that’d be me saying: “Don’t let it get to you.”, it’d sound to her as if I didn’t really care and I didn’t understand.

…I’d make sure she’d tell me about her boyfriend or her girlfriend without asking too many questions.

…I’d encourage her choices, because I’d teach her to believe in herself and her judgement.

…I’d teach her not to believe everything she heard, to investigate the world herself.

…I’d teach her to be Independent, not only from me, but from the opinions of others.

…I’d teach her to trust.

…I’d give her the freedom to try new things.

…I’d be honest with her about my own issues, making sure she knew it wasn’t her responsibility.

…I’d tell her she could believe in whatever she wanted, as long as it felt right.

And then there’s the second thing. It’s been on my mind a while now really, but it’s hard and strange to put it into words.

How do I start? Even though I remember to have had a happy childhood full of love and attention, there have been incidents that showed me that maybe my psyche is not as healthy as I thought.

I have written about my Ex-boyfriend. It’s been over two years now since we broke up. At the time I just saw it the way that he was pressuring me, expecting too much. Looking back though he didn’t really want that much. He wanted a relationship, to kiss me, to hold my hand. But to me it felt like he was asking the world of me, to move in with him, to commit myself forever. People thought I was sick, I’d come home and cry, I’d cry at night. It didn’t feel like it was supposed to.

More and more now I’ve noticed that maybe it wasn’t a one-time thing.

I get scared.

It’s the fear of not being able to fulfull what’s expected from me, of being disrespected or taken for granted, of having to take on a responsibilty for other people’s emotions, of loosing my own identity in another person, of being emotionally dependant.

It’s not often that I get chatted up in town, but when I do, it’s usally quite alright. I try to see it as a complement, but as soon as I get away, I feel awful and all I wanted to do is hide in my bed. I remember running home from the station once after a day in Frankfurt because I just wanted to get rid of this horrid feeling. Yesterday a man came up to me, he was very nice and we talked for a while, but when I got away I hurried to catch the next train because I felt scared and as if I was about to cry.

It’s strange, because I am usually a very open person and I care deeply about my family and my friends. Apparently this type of anxiety usually developps at a very early age with either an overbaring mother (generally) or one that is too distant. But I do not want to blame my mother for this, because I am pretty sure it’s not her fault. I don’t know what it has to do with, but I am not blaming my parents. This is one of the reasons I have been afraid to mention this, because it may sound like an accusation, when it’s only a confession.

So, those are the two things that have been on my mind lately.

Not sure I feel better now though.


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