A letter to my needy, attention-hungry 4-year-old daugther

The fiery red-haired, energetic, full of spirit little girl otherwise known as my daughter Amelia, turned 4 this past October.  Since the day she turned 4, in her perspective, she’s actually “almost 5”.  Almost 5, and capable of everything that life throws at her, without any offered help whatsoever.  She’s also in pure want of my attention at every second, every minute, every hour of her waking being.  I don’t know if it’s the typical age of 4 “almost 5”, if it’s a learned dependency, or is it’s just her personality.  Whatever it is, I have a love-hate relationship with it. 

This girl, she wants to be me.  She wants to walk like I do, talk like I do, and be the mere person who I am.  And the inner voice inside of me knows that I should cherish these days, because pretty soon, this attitude of her undying, idealistic love for me will completely crumble with the early onset of adolescence. 

I need to communicate a message to her.  It’s a message that she can’t understand now, but one that hopefully she will understand someday.

Dear Amelia, my beautiful girl,

My daughter, my idol, my confidant, I love you.  But can’t you just give me a few minutes to just be myself? 

I love spending time with you.  I love playing with your stuffed animals, and making little voices and characters out of each of them.   I love the situations we act out in your Barbie playhouse, and even your bright pink Cadillac power-wheels car.  I love doing 20 piece puzzles, and playing endless games of Bingo and Go Fish.  I admire the pictures you paint for me, and your beaded pipe-cleaner necklaces with all of the glitter. 

And little girl, I love the beautiful sole you are.  Not a worry in the world, just care free.  Your smile brightens my day, and at times, convinces me that everything in life is alright.  Your imagination fills me up with pride, and paints a beautiful picture of what it means to be a child.  You really are nothing less than the light of my life.

I’ve got explain to you, though, that there’s something else that I hope you grow to understand.  It’s something that I feel happy to admit, and also kind of guilty about. 

And that idea is this: 

In the act of being your mother, I am also my own person.

I have my own needs, and my own interests, and my own friends that are separate from you.  I existed as a strong woman, every day of my life, before you were born.  I also exist as an individual today, despite your constant need for attention.  Believe it or not, I was certainly put on this planet to be your mother, and I also play many other roles in my life than just that.

You want me all of the time.  You want me to come and play with you, to sit with you and watch  a movie, to listen to you sing, to draw a picture with you, to make a meal with you, to go for a walk with you, to read a story to you.  You want me by your side, at every waking moment of my being.  And let me tell you, I love the fact that you need me.  I need the fact that you need me. 

I need you, too.  I need you so much to feel a like a whole person.  And I need  other things and other people as well, because I’m a complicated, self-established, actual grown-up. 

I feel so much shame and doubt in telling you this:  my life includes more than just you and your needs.  I have the need to be independent, for love and attention from other people, and for my own autonomy.

 I hate to admit it, but at this 4-year-old phase, I complete you.  Unfortunately, in my reciprocal return in our relationship, you don’t complete me like I complete you.  And this is hard.  It’s very, very hard for me. 

Right now, you are a daughter, and I am your mother.  The difference is, you might think you are only a daughter, and I know for sure that I am not only a mom.  I am a wife, an employee, a therapist, a friend, a daughter, and a sister.  I am a volunteer, a helper, a customer, a writer, a community member, and an important part of a team of adults who are raising you.  It’s really too bad, and a little harsh, but someday, pretty soon, you will realize that I am indeed, not your one and only. 

Please don’t forever blame me for being an adult with adult needs and responsibilities.  I give you the best part of me who is your mom, and that part of me is a large part of me, but it is not all of me. 

There are some days, where I’d rather watch a television show than play with you and your toys.  There are moments of my life when I have to, not out of want but out of need, focus on my career.  There are plenty of blocks of times when I need to cook dinner, and fold laundry, and wipe the bathroom sinks.   There are times on a daily basis when I need to talk on the phone, or use the bathroom, or take shower by myself.  There are even times when at the beach, I’d rather sit in my lawn chair and visit with other moms than build castles with you in the sand.

I’m really sorry for those times, and I know that during those moments, you feel let down, and ignored, and maybe even rejected or pushed away.  My true apologies for those feelings, and times like those. 

But there’s something that you must know.  You must come to understand that I need those times for myself.  I need time to spend with your dad without you.  I need my space to sleep, and to dress myself, and to listen to my music and read a book with no interruptions.  I need time where I can make sure I haven’t lost myself, in the long days of being your mother.

Please know that I have a full understanding  that me, and my independent self, are so important for you.  A mother at her best, or her “somewhat capable” is better than a mother who is exhausted and burnt out.  You need a mom who can pay her full attention to you, who can show you the best of her, who can set a good example.  You need patience, and understanding, and unconditional love.  It is my job to provide those things for you, and unfortunately, I can’t provide them for you if I can’t even provide them for myself. 

And trust me, I know you’ve seen me at my absolute worst.  During those raw moments, where I’ve lost my temper, where I’ve fought with your dad, where I’ve drinken an entire bottle of wine in your presence, my apologies for those moments.  I’m so sorry for putting my own needs before yours. 

If there is one thing I can give you, as your mother, is the gift of knowing that I am my true, autonomous self.  I am not perfect, and I have faults and struggles just as every person does.  But maybe, if you can grow up on most days, knowing that I gave you my all, then it’s good enough.  Just maybe, the frustrated, burnt out, over worked example of an adult that I truly am, can give you a better example of what life really is. 

I am a real, independent person.  I’ve worked my whole life to be the best I can be.  I need time to myself, and lots of time with you, and my own sense of nurturing and acceptance that you can’t solely provide as my only person, because you are 4.    

My dear girl, I’m not always able to show it, but I love you with everything inside of me, all of the time.  You should also know that there is a little girl who has a small voice inside of me, too.  That little voice is just as louds as yours is, and she needs me, too.

Neither voice will ever be ignored, but at times, their attention will be unbalanced.  And my true, sincere, and authentic self apologies for that. 

I consistently give you the absolute most I can give.  In my days full of doubt, in my moments full of uncertainty, I truly hope that it’s enough for you to be able to grow into the strong and independent woman that I know you can be. 

Kind of like your mom.   

With Love Always,

Your tired, stressed-out Mother