Guilt

Tonight my oldest daughter matter of factly informed me of how she had made plans to run away during the time when her adopted father had been abusing her. She had calculated the costs to live and she and her friends had elaborate plans for covering for each other. The other girls were making plans so they could be with their boyfriends. No one asked my baby why she needed to get away. No one knew her deep pain and the years of abuse. Not even her Mom.

When I think of her I do not just see the young woman she is now. Somehow I see all those years- from the first time I held her and she looked like a little, red, squalling elf to the adorable, feisty little red-headed toddler to the shy kindergartener to the advanced, intelligent elementary school student and on. She has always had and old soul you can see in her eyes and she has always had a deep, deep strength and determination. She prides her self in her high pain tolerance, her high IQ, her insatiable quest for knowledge (the search for which led to her collecting old physics and psych books from thrift stores for light reading at night).

But what she doesn't admit in that pain, that pain buried so deeply because its too big to face. To hear her talk I would not recognize it either if it was not for the fact that I'm her Mom. That I heard the little quiver in her voice mixed with the stoic tone she gets when talking about something like this. I know she wasn't trying to hurt me. Hell, she spent so many years trying to protect me. Thinking she had to care for me. And why? Because that monster, her abuser, told her that if she told me what he was doing to her then I would be heart broken. It was too much of a burden. Something no child should have to face.

When she talked about her plans tonight over the phone, calling from college, it was like a knife in my gut all over again. Every time I think I'm moving past the guilt of not seeing what she was going through, of not being the Mom she needed, of not making as much time for her as I should have... Well I thought I was not so vulnerable in that area. But something like this cuts past the bullshit and goes straight to those feelings in me. I think of how when she was little, I held her and was so thankful she was in my life. I tried to do it all perfect. Breastfeeding, a natural birth so she would not have painkillers in her system when she was born, only natural solid foods (until Dad snuck her the good stuff!). I would swear to her I was going to be the best Mom I could, that even though I was so young and even though life wasn't perfect- it wouldn't matter because she could always count on me.

I can see the downward spiral when I look back over the years. I can see times when I should have found a way to really listen. Times when I should have taken her more seriously. Times when I was busy with other things and I left her feeling like she wasn't as important. And it led to her feeling that he was right. That she couldn't count on me. That she had to champion herself. And what twists the knife is thinking of how very lonely my so very loved girl must have felt as she made plans to escape the abuse. How she spent hours in the bathroom because it was the only door that locked in the house.

Is there anything I can do now to nullify the pain for her? Yes, when she told me I protected her. I went to court. I divorced her abuser. I stood for her. And I hope it eased her pain some to know I chose her. To know I believe her. To know I would and will always fight her battles if she lets me. But I can never go back and change the times I didn't stand for her. The times she still remembers and hurts deep deep inside. I didn't really keep my promise.

Does good come from any of this? She is amazing. Maybe she would not be as independent and strong. But the cost- the price we paid for the wisdom and knowledge gained was too high. I can't wish I could rewind and do better at protecting her because I have two other children who needed me too. But part of me does anyway. And I don't know if I will ever not feel this guilt.