daughter - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
I originated from a cruel place. Was raised among barbaric conditions, and faced brutality. And finally, I learnt callousness. I became stone-hearted. But when my little bundle of joy arrived, a thing me and my wife made, when she came- my daughter; everything changed. She reminded me of love and bond. I couldn't let her into the world of viciousness. She was soft, and breakable, like the snow. She was was gentle, and she was my world. I knew, that if she ventured into my dark world, she would hate her own existence. I desired my daughter to have a life of positivity and satisfaction of living authentically on purpose. She was the melody of my beating heart. She gave me hope for the future. She was my life, my world- I decided, she would live a good life.
My daughter is an eagle. My daughter is a fish swimming up river. My daughter is young lioness on the prairies. I used to think of her as a flower waiting to bloom, or a delicate spring leaf, but she is so much more. She has her own wings, her own propulsion and her own inner strength. It isn't that she has shed her vulnerabilities, as her mother I know where they all are, but she has her own future to stride toward. It's time for me to adapt, to no longer walk each path in front of her unless she asks me to. Instead I let her travel alone, making sure she knows where to find me.
Leon followed the sound of the sobs. Lucky for him Gayla always cried like there was a gale inside her fighting to get out. He sat on the damp pavement right next to her and followed her gaze to the moon, saying nothing. She wiped her nose with her sleeve and glanced his way. “I always fail, Papa. Always. Why do you even bother?”
“Gayla, I was there when you came into this world. I know you, the real one inside, not the one you show the world. You're beautiful.”
“But I rage, I get angry, I forget what you said and I mess up all over again.”
Leon held her gaze, “I love you and that will never change. You are human like the rest of us and you make mistakes. You will continue to make them too, as do I. But what's so special about you is that you own them, feel the hurt and force the pain to make you better.” Gayla's sobs had ebbed to a trickle and she took Leon's hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze and together they walked back into the house.
The girl is like a snapshot out of time. I can see her chestnut hair blowing in the spring breeze, her youthful face turned toward the sun. Though her feet are scarred she still dances, dances like the joy of life within her cannot be tamed. In that purple shirt and jeans she could be anyone, no-one. But to me she is the world itself and without her I cannot enjoy a simple flower or the rising sun. There is nothing I wouldn't do to keep her safe from harm, but I cannot protect her forever. I can only be there when she falls and stand well back while she reaches for the stars.
Lara is slumped at the breakfast table, her brows creased and face tense. When Mom sits, coffee in hand, she asks "What's up?" her tone casual and light.
Lara's scowls at her scrambled eggs, "I don't know whether to do basketball or swimming. I like both but I only see Claire at swimming."
Mom takes another sip and then continues, serious faced, "I see, well, what's does your gut tell you? Which one do you want more?"
Lara's face crumples again, "I don't know!"
Mom makes her face straighter than a poker player and says, "Lara, you're not going swimming." For a fraction of a second the corners of Lara's mouth twitch upwards, until her conscious mind asserts control again. Then Mom says "Actually, no, you're not going to basketball." Lara's face is serious all the way from her eyes to her mouth, no pleasure at all, not even masked. "OK," Mom says, "We'll finish this set of swim lessons, then switch to just basketball. You can still see Claire every week, OK honey?"
My daughter cannot see the world through my eyes, and mostly it is a good thing that she can't. She sees excitement and possibilities; I see danger and a world of uncertainty. She wants to walk out of the house after dark, and why should she not? Why should the darkness hold more peril for her than it does for my sons? She is adult height, not yet adult weight, fast and strong; but once dusk is even hinted of in the evening sky she is forbidden to leave the house. I wish I could give her the same freedoms the boys take for granted, I wish I could treat her the same. But if I want her to become a healthy and well adjusted woman I can't take the risk of her being attacked or worse. It is an invisible cage her brothers will never know, these confines of being a female. When she rails against it I am reminded of its unfairness, to me, her mother, it is a reality I unquestioningly accept; a reality I impose on her lest I want the risk of burying her. And I don't.
My daughter has so many of my traits and none of it is helping right now. It isn't that I'm a bad person or without talent, it's that she wants so much to be her own person. Given that we are good at the exact same things, only I have more experience, puts more rocks in our relationship than neither of us can handle at times. There are days my only option is to lie low and offer no resistance, anything not to cause more problems; yet there are days she needs a mother's firm hand just like when she was a young child. And so we veer from one to the other, her leading when she can, being forced to follow when she cannot. She has all the desire to be free but with so many skills still to learn. Of course she'll leave before she's ready, I know she will, and those last lessons will be the hardest of all. But like the bird from the nest, sometimes the only way to find out if you can fly is to leap into the unknown and try.
Often the stronger the maternal bond the harder the teenage years are for a daughter. She seeks to break free, to prove who she is, that she is her own person and no replica of her mother. The separation is a trauma she hides within animosity, misread as teenage angst. She leans toward the father, separated by gender there is no danger of confusion between who is who. In time the rift will heal, when she is confident, when she is truly an adult. Then she may return to the mother and become more than any two friends could ever be, the love returning to the surface for each.
A daughter is a precious gift, just as precious as any son. She is a wonder just as great, a person in her own right. She is not a vessel for family pride, but a person born equal to men. She is entitled to make as many mistakes as any other and still be a full recipient of family love. She is not property to be coveted, she is a sacred being under God, as are we all. So take care of your daughters and know that each is a blessing in full measure.