My daughter

My darling daughter is working through the pain of being an individual. Normally so confident and happy, she has started doubting herself and allowing anxiety in. Late last night we talked about it. She has been hurt by people laughing at her and calling her weird and so decided to try and fit in, to align herself with the crowd. This has made her desperately unhappy and feeling like she has compromised her own values just to fit in with others. So she has decided that it is better to be an individual; to live by her own code and not allow the great unwashed to afflict her. But oh, how hard it is to be the cuckoo in the nest when you are 9!

This is how she describes herself.

Imagine if you will a forest of trees. All the trees at the front are tall with bright green leaves and brilliant flowers of different colours. The trees are loud and pretty and everyone looks at the trees and loves them. If you walk through the trees, past them, you will come to a smaller tree. The leaves on this tree are different and there are no brilliantly coloured flowers. There is nothing about this tree to make you notice it but that it is different. This tree is my child.

I listen to her describing herself and I hear the sadness, the loneliness in her small voice and my heart hurts. So I hold her and I say to her. This small tree has much magic in it. At night when all the other flowers have closed their faces and gone to sleep; when all the large trees are dark and formless, this small tree blossoms. As evening comes and the forest quieten’s a wonderful perfume rises in the breeze and slowly beautiful white flowers open their waxy faces to dance in the moonlight. The small tree has night blooms that sparkle and completely enchant any who see them. This I say to my child, is you. If people do not look closely they may miss your brilliance – but if they wait and watch, they will see that you are truly the most unique and special tree in the whole forest.

Ahh, she says. I don’t mind being different all the time. And sometimes people copy me. They follow me and if I say I like this picture, they will touch it and say it is their favourite too – even if yesterday they all said that the big picture in the middle was their favourite. This annoys me, why do they have to copy? This is easy my love, I reply. People are afraid of being different, of being laughed at or of standing out from the crowd. But when they see someone being brave and different and if they admire the things that this person does, they want to copy them; they want to create a new group built around the views and attributes of that individual.

Oh, she mumbles. I don’t want to be their leader though. I just want to be me. And then she settles to sleep in sadness and in her little cloud of loneliness. And I lay beside her and brush the hair from her eyes, and listen to her breathing and I feel her sadness and her loneliness. But my heart swells with love and amazement; for this magical little creature was born by me and her beauty and strength astound me.

Be happy my little one. Be proud of yourself and of who you are. Be the magical night bloom in the forest. Be you.