The Eldest Daughter's Reflection is Her Own Father
I think I am more like my father than I'd like to admit. & boy does it scare me.
“You are just like your father”, my mom stated jokingly after we had gotten into a small disagreement about my temperament. Mom has a way of saying things that get beneath the skin and sizzle until you smell the scent of burning flesh. She aslo has this certain obliviousness, shall we call it (truly, it is just a lack of accountability over the words that come out of her mouth), when it comes to how offensive her jokes can be at times. I know she doesn't mean to, it probably just gets to me so much because I love her and value her opinion of me. I know God probably uses her often to teach me to kill my flesh. I mean, why wouldn't I want to kill something that is constantly burning me alive.
She says a lot of little remarks but this one in particular rang in my head like an alarm, incessantly. Yes, that one iPhone alarm that sends us all into fight or flight mode.
l am just like my father? “God forbid”, jerked out of my mouth without permission, my hands rushing to my face to clasp my lips shut.
What does that even mean? I was panicking beneath the surface, desperate for her to elaborate on this “joke” that felt more like a cause for tears, rather than a call to laughter. Outwardly I snarkled, shaking my head like I often do to all of her other unfunny jokes. But this one genuinely sent fear down my spine.
I've always loved my dad, a love that felt like the likes of Stockholm Syndrome. Unwarranted, incomprehensible, desperate. The more he angered me, the more I softened for him. I couldn't make sense of it. The love I had for him was like bubble wrap for my immature heart. It softened the blow of heartache.
He was rage, silent treatments, and pride. All of the things I never wanted to be yet, all of the things beautifully packaged to me with a bow on top. Handed to me at birth by my mother, “you’ll need this to live with your dad”. As I aged, I buried away those things, telling myself I do not need them, and praying no one ever discovered my possession of them.
I watched my father excessvively, observing his demeanor, witnessing his arrogance, absorbing his nature. Who would have known that just by observation, I would be exposing my soul to such corruption. Guard your eyes, your heart, and your ears they say. They are gates to your soul.
“Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it”. -Proverbs 4:23
This constant exposure eventually began to blur the lines of where he ended and I began. Until one day, I stared at my father so long, my eyes widened with revelation, he had left out the door, but his reflection was still here. It… it was me that I was staring at, I was looking in a mirror this whole time. I screamed.
“Close the door behind you!”, he couldn’t hear me, the door remained ajar.
They always say that the only one that can truly handle dad is the eldest daughter. But why is that? It is because it becomes quite simple to beat the master at his own game, once he has shown you meticulously how he plays it. Essentially, she is handling herself, and who knows how to handle you, better than you?
After years of learning his game, you begin to play it better than him, even when you don’t want to. You try to shove your expertise somewhere deep within you, but learned skillfullness is hard to hide sometimes.
Look in the mirror, you’re just like your dad. Accept it.
“No mom, I do not want to speak to cousins in Ghana over the phone that I have never met a day in my life. No mom, it is not because I am pompous, arrogant, or prideful”.
I find myslef over- explaining a lot, attempting to deny the “you’re just like your dad” allegations.
“Mom, it is simply because I am not in the mood to put on a show for people I do not truly know. Lights, camera, action, as you hand me the phone. A smile forcefully finding its way on my visage. This performance titled, Most Agreeable, People- Pleasing, Daughter in the World. Its subtitle, How Sweet & Amazing is She? And scene, the act ends when I return the phone back to you, the disingeuos smile fleeing swiftly from my face. The high pitch in my voice eerily returning to monotony.
But mother won’t accept that as an explanation, so she resorts to her go to line,
“You are just like your father”.
So be it, I understand. I see how my temperment can at times resemble dad’s. It is not my intention to, trust me. Everyday is a constant marathon, fleeing from the fate of becoming like him. I live in a state of constant self-awareness, desperatley pining to change my deafult settings. Trust me, I don’t want this just as much as you, if not more.
It’s hard to look in the mirror and see the person who hurt you most, while simultaneously seeing the person you love so dearly.
Now imagine looking within and seeing the same thing. Imagine what that battle is like. It nears insanity, it calls for war, it wreaks havoc on the soul. I fight who I am, but I love who I am, I know who I am, but I fear who I can be.
So mother, help me out.
Please resists the urge to make such “jokes”.
Your jokes comparing me to dad are no longer jokes, they have now become slurs. I wince at the mention of them, recoil as they settle in the brain, and grimace as they prove to be true.
The eldest daughter carries with her a mirror everywhere she goes. It is involuntary, inevitable. This mirror was handed to her at birth within that box of gifts, & is sewed into her being. She cannot be without it. In this mirror is an amalgamation of so many things. Things she wants to be, things she can never be, things she is, things people hate, and things she runs from. There is never a moment when the eldest daughter is not being reminded of herself. The mirror speaks. It is an incessant voice of criticism.
See they’re right you will never be good enough,
See you are just like your father,
See you will make the same mistakes as your mother,
You’ll never be able to stop working for approval,
It is insufferable.
But, can I tell you all a secret? I shattered that mirror long ago. I crushed it at the altar of my Heavenly Father, and left the broken pieces at His feet. I picked up a new mirror, one in which I actually love what I see. In this mirror, what is reflected to me is still my Father, but this time, His name starts with a capital G.
Thank you for exploring a path in my brain, I will meet you here next time…
Your support helps me keep writing. Thank you.
OH, how true your view in this mirror....says another eldest daughter. I have never stopped seeking the parents approval and at 3/4 of a century I am finally learning it was never required of me in the first place. I have always been a child of my Heavenly Father and lived in his love.
Your writings are so beautiful. Keep writing luv 🥂