My daughter returned just a couple of hours ago from a trip to Rhode Island to visit her friend's family. I knew from her demeanor as soon as she was in the house for several minutes that coming home was a rude awakening--or a crash landing. The friend's family is comfortable financially. They also do not have any mentally ill people in the immediate family. These two factors alone are enough to put a huge damper on any happiness she might have felt in returning--and were enough to fan some anger into flame.
When I offered her the "same old same old" for dinner...when she looked at the pile of unwashed dishes...when she saw my unkempt self...when I told her there was no money to go to the store and replace her lamp which had broken...I saw the anger. I felt the anger. And I felt helpless.
She is right to be angry. She is right not to want to return here to the problems and the limitations of our family. And I feel like the vast majority of it is my fault. Heck, I don't even want to be in the same house as me...why should she?
I remember feeling the same way as a teen. I remember my mother's anger blazing at the critical attitude I sported after returning from a time away from home. I guess it's a typical problem. But we have less than typical problems in this house. I don't blame my daughter at all for feeling the way she does. I blame myself for her feelings. Even though I know, logically, that it is not really my fault...that it is NO one's fault...that doesn't make it any better or easier...for her or for me.
The situation basically stinks. We are all doing the best we can in the midst of it...and sometimes, even that is not enough.
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