Gender is not personality traits nor abilities, for empathy and kindness, determination and bravery, come naturally to each. Yet in my daughter I sense a feminine grace, a strong nurturing spirit, that draws me in to love and protect her all the more.
A daughter is a precious gift, just as precious as any son. She is a wonder just as great, a person in her own right. She is not a vessel for family pride, but a person born equal to men. She is entitled to make as many mistakes as any other and still be a full recipient of family love. She is not property to be coveted, she is a sacred being under God, as are we all. So take care of your daughters and know that each is a blessing in full measure.
Often the stronger the maternal bond the harder the teenage years are for a daughter. She seeks to break free, to prove who she is, that she is her own person and no replica of her mother. The separation is a trauma she hides within animosity, misread as teenage angst. She leans toward the father, separated by gender there is no danger of confusion between who is who. In time the rift will heal, when she is confident, when she is truly an adult. Then she may return to the mother and become more than any two friends could ever be, the love returning to the surface for each.
My daughter is an eagle. My daughter is a fish swimming up river. My daughter is young lioness on the prairies. I used to think of her as a flower waiting to bloom, or a delicate spring leaf, but she is so much more. She has her own wings, her own propulsion and her own inner strength. It isn't that she has shed her vulnerabilities, as her mother I know where they all are, but she has her own future to stride toward. It's time for me to adapt, to no longer walk each path in front of her unless she asks me to. Instead I let her travel alone, making sure she knows where to find me.
The girl is like a snapshot out of time. I can see her chestnut hair blowing in the spring breeze, her youthful face turned toward the sun. Though her feet are scarred she still dances, dances like the joy of life within her cannot be tamed. In that purple shirt and jeans she could be anyone, no-one. But to me she is the world itself and without her I cannot enjoy a simple flower or the rising sun. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe from harm, but I cannot protect her forever. I can only be there when she falls and stand well back while she reaches for the stars.
My daughter cannot see the world through my eyes, and mostly it is a good thing that she can't. She sees excitement and possibilities; I see danger and a world of uncertainty. She wants to walk out of the house after dark, and why should she not? Why should the darkness hold more peril for her than it does for my sons? She is adult height, not yet adult weight, fast and strong; but once dusk is even hinted of in the evening sky she is forbidden to leave the house. I wish I could give her the same freedoms the boys take for granted, I wish I could treat her the same. But if I want her to become a healthy and well adjusted woman I can't take the risk of her being attacked or worse. It is an invisible cage her brothers will never know, these confines of being a female. When she rails against it I am reminded of its unfairness, to me, her mother, it is a reality I unquestioningly accept; a reality I impose on her lest I want the risk of burying her. And I don't.
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