"You don't understand"

"You don't understand."

Words every parent hears at some point, but are never quite prepared to hear.

In this case, it was "you don't understand what it is like to work two jobs."

Deep breath.

I realized in that moment, my daughter doesn't understand me. I also realized I've made it easy for her.

What I want to say is, "No, I don't understand moving back home from college into your childhood bedroom and have two people willing to drop everything to make your life more comfortable. No, I don't understand what it is like to have everything stay as you want it. No, I don't understand the security you must feel. No, I don't understand having someone do my laundry. And my dishes. And offer to pick up groceries for me. No, I don't understand the luxury of only having to work two part time jobs and not also having to take care of a house."

My life has not been hard by most standards. I do have two loving parents, but parents who always worked multiple jobs to make sure we had what we needed and wanted. I also had two younger siblings whose needs I felt always came before mine. I remember having a meltdown after dear daughter was born and as I was grasping my last straw I called my mom for advice. She couldn't talk because Dad was trying to sleep. The next time she couldn't talk because a call came through on call waiting. I never felt so alone. I promised myself I wouldn't do that to my dear daughter.

When I graduated from college and was about to leave the country to study abroad my parents asked me when I came back if I wanted to share a bedroom with my middle or younger sister. The other would be moving into my bedroom. I moved to the pull out couch in the family room when the exchange student arrived a couple of days before I left so she could be settled. I knew her life had just been disrupted as mine was about to be.

For the next five years, I moved 10 times. Three in Belgium. The rest into various dorm rooms before moving in with my fiancé. I didn't have much -- a few suitcases of stuff -- so it was easy. During those years, I did not feel settled. Nothing felt like home. Even moving in with my fiancé didn't feel like home because it was his before it was ours.

At the time none of this hurt, but it became part of me.

So when my daughter said to 55-year old me, "you don't understand," I realized I have kept much from her. 

I kept one of the reasons I left working when she was born was so she would always feel safe. I took odd jobs that did not interfere with family life so she could have security. Someone was always available to pick her up from activities. The few times I could not be there, I felt I failed her. I failed hubby. I failed myself. 

So, no, dear daughter. As I gaze into the bedroom you have had your entire life, the one I lovingly stenciled flowers on, I don't understand what it is like to be 22-years old and know my parents always have my back. Even when my car doesn't start, or when I hit a racoon late at night, or when I am too sick to drive home and they offer to pick me up.

* These thoughts happened after our trip, but burying them because I'm not sure I don't want to hurt my parents' feelings, but I know my mom has issues with both her mother and (likely) her amazing daughters, but she would still be hurt to read them. At the same time, I need to say them so other mothers and daughters understand they are not alone in their mother/daughter struggles. Mom and dad, I know you love me, but 35 years later I still miss having my own bedroom to curl up in to feel safe when the world is crashing around me.