In therapy yesterday, my daughter told her therapist how each night we have "Questions and Feelings" time together. She can ask me anything and I will answer honestly. The questions can range from:
Will I ever like fish?
When will my breasts start to grow?
Will they be big like yours?
Why is melted cheese gross but I like grilled cheese?
Will I be in a bad mood when I have my period? (Implying that I am when I have mine.)
When I lie on my stomach, I can see my butt, can you?
There are three questions each night.
The "Feelings" part is a little trickier for me. Feelings to her equate to her take (see: critique) on what I did that day that to her was not appropriate. Or measured. She couches the language in a way that shows me how I could have done better. Her therapist found her perception compelling. Oh goodie. My daughters' perception of her feelings is, in fact, a comment on my behaviors. Each night during, "Questions and Feelings," I brace for my nightly critique.
Last night, she begins, "Why do you curse?"
"Because it releases stress, for me, like a balloon popping, it's an instant feeling of release," I answer.
"Do you think there is a better way to release your stress?"
"I'm sure there is," I say.
"I get mad, and I don't curse."
"What do you do?" I ask.
"I scream," she says.
"Is that better or the same?"
"I'm not sure. Cursing is gross," she admits.
"Ok. I will not curse and you will not scream. Is that a fair deal?"
"Yes. Do you think we can do it?"
"If we do it together, I think we have a better shot," I say. "Now tell me a feeling you have about something I did right today."
"You love me. You do this right every day," and I crumble in a puddle of admiration for my eight-year-old daughter. I would rip the skin from my body if that meant she would always feel loved and happy forever.
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