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“You don’t know me at all!” The door slammed shut behind my daughter, and I found myself leaning against it, feeling defeated. This was just one of many heated exchanges with my 14-year-old about her habit of leaving dirty dishes scattered across her room. When the COVID-19 pandemic struck New York City and we moved to our house in the countryside, the bond we once shared began to fray. Our interactions became awkward and strained, often escalating into arguments. She was frustrated with everything I said, and at one point, she isolated herself in her room for 12 hours straight. I even had to use a screwdriver to unlock her door and check on her while she slept. Although we had escaped the chaos of the city, it was clear we were facing our own storm at home. I felt utterly lost.
Deep down, we all carry the childhood perceptions that shape us. Mine was colored by the belief that I wasn’t enough as I was. Just one disapproving glance or hint of disappointment from my father would spiral me into shame. I became adept at seeking his approval, but in doing so, I lost touch with my own happiness. It took me years to appreciate the importance of being my authentic self, both to myself and to others.
In stark contrast, my role as a parent with my first daughter felt natural. I was committed to prioritizing her needs, which came easily for us. We were the quintessential mother-daughter duo, filled with laughter and inside jokes. I knew how to comfort her and understood her humor. When a Gilmore Girls pop-up event came to town, we woke up at dawn to wait in line, pretending to be Rory and Lorelai. We giggled as nearby patrons marveled at our memorized lines.
I learned TikTok dances and hosted sleepovers. For a long time, she insisted I sing her to sleep. On our annual trips to Burma, she formed a deep friendship with a former political prisoner who taught her art while I conducted trauma workshops. One day, he stunned me by saying, “You know she might not always want to come here?” It was the first time I realized she could choose her own path, potentially leaving behind these cherished experiences we shared.
“Swans, seriously? You think I want to look at a swan? You are so clueless!” she shouted one day when I commented on a beautiful swan gliding across a lake. Back at home, we faced off. “Now what? Where do we go from here?” I asked, acutely aware that she had no answers. Clad in an oversized Harry Styles sweatshirt, she shot me a look of contempt before retreating to her room, slamming the door behind her. This was no ordinary teenage rebellion, especially during such trying times.
The following day, while scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon my neighborhood’s “Buy Nothing” group, a national initiative focused on sharing unused items instead of acquiring more. Initially, the posts included quirky requests like a pirate costume or a specific board game. However, as the pandemic continued, a sense of community emerged. From free pumpkin pies to legal advice for a woman seeking a divorce, the group created a space of generosity and connection. One member shared that gifts from the group had helped her cope with PTSD, showcasing the profound impact of kindness during challenging times.
As the harsh reality of COVID-19 unfolded, the group became a sanctuary for compassion. I was navigating my own patients’ struggles, my children’s online schooling, and the relentless worry of a pandemic. After losing a colleague to the virus, someone humorously offered a new vibrator with the tagline, “self-care takes all forms during a crisis.” In the midst of my grief and anxiety, the group provided solace, offering support to those facing unimaginable hardships.
Amid this newfound sense of community, I began to reflect on my relationship with my daughter. Beneath our connection was a deep-seated fear rooted in my childhood experiences. My father’s needs shaped my identity, leading me to define myself through his expectations. I pursued accolades and achievements to gain his approval, often at the expense of my own desires. The realization that seeking my father’s approval would never yield true happiness was a painful awakening, but one I ultimately embraced.
I spent years trying to create a new narrative for my daughter, encouraging her to express her feelings and avoid the pitfalls of my own upbringing. Yet, I didn’t realize that I had merely replaced one set of expectations with another: the dutiful daughter had morphed into the overly involved mother. My desire for closeness with her had become more about my needs than hers.
Gradually, I understood that my daughter’s anger was not the issue; it was my need to shield her from the struggles that I had barely escaped. Her journey was hers to navigate, not mine to dictate. My expectations, much like my father’s, were stifling. Unlike me, she refused to succumb to them easily.
“I’m trying—I am trying to understand you,” I said one day, sitting at the foot of her bed, careful not to make eye contact. “I just don’t want you to know me anymore,” she replied. “I don’t even know myself!” She had a point.
After Thanksgiving, I made a post in the Buy Nothing group requesting a turkey wishbone, a cherished tradition between my daughter and her grandmother. After a contactless pickup, I returned home with the wishbone wrapped in paper towel. As I presented it to her, I braced for a dismissive response. To my surprise, her face lit up. “I want to make a wish,” she exclaimed. As she pulled the wishbone apart, our eyes met, and in that moment, I let go.
Summary
Through the experience of engaging in a ‘Buy Nothing’ Facebook group during the pandemic, I discovered a renewed understanding of community and kindness, which ultimately helped me reflect on my strained relationship with my daughter. As we navigated the challenges of adolescence and personal expectations, I learned that her journey was her own and that my role as a parent needed to shift from control to understanding. This discovery not only strengthened our bond but also allowed me to embrace my daughter’s individuality.