#Motherless daughter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tenebrius-excellium · 4 months ago

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I somehow feel like it's a little too early to make this estimate, but I took care of some things for myself lately and I'm feeling so so alone and vulnerable but also wayyy more confident, cautiously optimistic and hopeful for the future than before? Like, as a motherless daughter I have this dream of being able to say that "it got okay around age 30". I need to be able to tell this to someone else one day and be so so compassionate and encouraging to them, being able to promise that everything does get better, even if it might take someone another decade to reach that point for themselves.

So here's my coping mechanisms / survival guide for other motherless kids/teens/young adults out there... it's so trashy, like, I was making this up as I went along, I was just winging it out there, I did not have help and nobody cared what I went through. These are the things that got me through. They're not developed, they're not scientific, they're makeshift comfort. But please take what you need if you find anything helpful in this pile of rugs. (so crying right now)

Music and daydreaming help. So, sooooooo much. Don't get lost in the daydreaming too much, but I, for example, literally use music beat patterns to physically calm myself down. Music is a GREAT emotional regulator. Get that stuff out. Pacify yourself. I hum, I tap, I blow my eardrums out when life gets too much.

Stuffed animals help. They are soft and go everywhere with you and they are a guaranteed safe space. They are your pillow at night and the one you can always kiss and hug. They will love you back with their presence as well as they can. They've been through your shit with you and they are witnesses.

Christianity and Church help. A lot. A good Church will have motherly mothers and safe men in it. Members will gift you their spare items (I got like a clothes rack, a microwave, and more). They will give you money to get by if you honestly admit that you need help. When starving, I've always lowkey found food there. Within a Church, people will naturally move and clear out their households and get you connected to essential supplies like repairs, vacant housing, unused furniture, clothes and such. Accept this help. Don't depend on it, however, and do not exploit it either. Just grasp those opportunities when they present themselves.

Jesus himself helps. He will answer your prayers prayed in desperation if you honor him with your life. He saw. Trust me, he saw and he still sees, and he still helps you. Even now.

Socialism helps. A LOT. I've survived on state benefits for the longest time and have been so greatful discovering all the graces the government will grant you as an orphan, as a student, as a child, as a young person. My state has been more loving to me than my own parents. At least that's what it oftentimes feels like. Whenever they abandoned me, I was able to apply for some financial aid elsewhere. I recently organized insurance for myself, and it is my first real safety net EVER. I can relax better now.

Media help. Books, movies, talks, inspirational quotes, whatever floats your boat. Hearing and watching about other people's experiences lets you find kindred spirits and role models to aspire to. Don't get too lost in them either because you have to forge your own path. But take all the strength from them that you can. My real life role models include Kate Winslet, Kate Blanchett, Hugh Jackman and RDJ. My fictional role models are every swashbuckler ever, every dreamer, fighter, dancer, singer ever, just passionate people who are able to live in the present and get creative with the situations they find themselves in while maintaining a positive attitude and a fun, confident spirit.

No one will be coming to save you. Take responsibility for yourself as early as you can. I made the mistake of expecting others to save me for far too long. I remained passive expecting my step-family to accomodate my needs "when they finally find the time to think about me". These people have their own family dynamic; they don't get that you are different. Listen; THEY HAVE THEIR OWN FAMILY. You, however, are from an entirely different family. I wish for each and every orphan to be grafted into a family that wholeheartedly accepts who you are and supports you unconditionally. In my case though, I was expected to fit in with them and to grow up to do things exactly like them, their way. Which I couldn't. Because my blood literally boils different. If you feel "off", "out of place", "different", reclaim your origins, insist on it, do things your own way. It'll free you dramatically. If you're happy, good for you, then don't touch that shit. You can be grateful for what you have. Sincere gratulations! But what I'm trying to say is, asking the dumb questions and having to learn everything by yourself is humiliating. It's also exhausting. Sometimes you will have to fight the adults in your life for what you really need when they try to give you what they *think* a normal kid needs. You are not a normal kid. You need extra stuff. Why do YOU have to do everything by yourself out of all people? WHY YOU? WHY MEEE? I have no idea. It doesn't make sense. It's so unfair. All I can tell you is that things immediately get better for you the moment you stand up for yourself and take responsibility. It's okay to whine. Just get to doing something about it while you're at it. Listen, I love you, but you HAVE to.

This I can't say from personal experience, but apparently, having animals/pets and engaging in sports helps some people. Small things I've noticed are that basking in the sun feels like a hug. Walking barefoot as often as possible connects you to the earth. It's very grounding. Everything from the night stars to the glistening water to the soft blades of grass is there to love you and for you to feel safe under. Mountain ridges and beloved cityscapes are things for my eyes to hold on to when the abyss gets bottomless and the void unbearable.

Take things as slow as you need to. Don't beat yourself up for not developing or understanding things as fast as your peers, - they get the luxury of being inherently taught by the mere existence of their parents - you don't. You're a warrior. You're a survivor. You are busy reconnecting your family line to the future which was severed by the disappearance of your og folks. You are literally carrying the load of two generations. Respect that. You will get to the same destinations as the others, just a whole lot slower. It's okay. Preserve your strength, take as many breaks as you need as you teach yourself to not just survive, but to genuinely thrive.

You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it. You will make it.

You will make it.

#motherless daughters #orphanhood #wherethekiteflies

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that-left-turn · 6 months ago

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Sweet Summer Child

A continuation of Sweet Summer Child in honor of Mother's Day. This one is for all motherless daughters, whatever form that might take ❤️‍🩹 I wish today is kind to you.

There's a girl... woman marching across the parking lot. Long stride. Knee-high buckled boots. Her hair is up in a sleek ponytail that swishes as she walks. For a moment, Carol envies the straight length of it, the color not so far off from her own. Only lighter by degrees. Then she recognizes that it's an unchristian thought and checks it.

As she comes into closer view, Carol sees that she has a sheath with a knife strapped to her thigh. She looks lethal, with what appears to be a fancy compound hunting bow strapped to her back. She's tall and lean, and nothing like the girls from the area. Even the ones who have daddies to take them hunting.

As she comes inside the diner, she stops when she catches sight of Carol at the counter and smiles. "Hi," she says, with a little wave of the hand and in a few strides, she's sliding onto one of the stools at the front counter after stowing her bow against it. "I hope you don't mind," she says, "I don't have a car to leave it in."

Carol shakes her head, feeling the bun of wayward curls wobble on top of her head and she briefly wonders how the other woman even got there if she doesn’t have a car. "Coffee while you look at the menu?" Carol slides the laminated booklet across the counter.

"Yes, please," her customer smiles again and Carol is certain this is the prettiest girl she's ever seen. Hazel eyes and striking eyebrows, with high cheekbones and freckles. Oh so many freckles. More prominent than Carol's own, but they look good and she has such a happy, infectious smile that Carol can't help but to smile right back.

"All right," she turns to grab a cup and the coffee pot, happy it's a fresh brew and hasn't been sitting on the hot plate for hours.

"The survivalist special, Three Sisters ABC Soup, sounds good." Carol's new and mysterious guest looks a bit wistful, like she's lost down memory lane and can't decide if she just wants to turn around. "My dad used to tell the story of the three sisters, do you know it?"

Carol shakes her head. The three sisters are corn, squash and beans which Carol’s grandma learned from her grandma to always plant together because they grow and protect one another in a symbiotic relationship. The dish is Carol’s first contribution to the menu, an experiment aimed at the participants of the survivalist courses out on Route 12. She’s foraged wild onion and there's rabbit from the snares her grandma taught her how to set, so the ‘survivalist special’ is a little different from the usual comfort dishes on the menu, like biscuits and gravy or fried catfish. Carol's been nervous if diners will like it and now, she finds out that she doesn’t even know the story to go with it.

"In Cherokee lore, they were three women who helped each other stay fed, hydrated and strong on the Trail of Tears when the Cherokee people were forced off their lands. They had no other family than each other.” The other girl rearranges the salt and pepper shakers, and turns the handle of the syrup dispenser the other way around. “Selu was tall and lean, and she'd use her strength to help her sisters keep upright and moving when they got tired. Tuya was agile and alert, and she’d disappear into the thick brush around the trail to reappear with food to keep her sisters alive. And Iya was dependable and observant. She noticed things along the trail, like small springs of water, which would keep the sisters refreshed."

There's a sadness to her that Carol aches to relieve, she's not sure why. Maybe because it's the Christian thing to do and the other girl literally just told a story about cooperation and empathy. “It’s a beautiful story.” She busies herself with getting a bowl and scooping up a portion of the fragrant broth with the right ratio of vegetables and meat. Carol can't do much else to alleviate whatever sorrows the other girl carries, but she can feed her.

“My mom made soup with alphabet pasta when I didn’t feeling well as a kid,” the girl continues, plucking at the napkin wrapped silverware in front of her. “I’d leave my name in the bottom of the bowl when I’d finished.” She looks up and smiles at Carol, her eyes lingering.

“You’re close with your mom?” That must be nice. Carol’s memories of her mother are hazy for the most part. She remembers her mom teaching her how to lift wallets without getting caught and how to pick the right marks. She also remembers the police station in Atlanta where her grandmother picked her up late one night when Carol hadn’t been careful enough and her mom got arrested as a result.

The girl nods, taking the spoon in her left hand and stirs the soup before looking up. "My mom..." There's a pause, weighing in the air, as the girl looks at Carol. Really looks at her. "She's the whole package. A lot to live up to." She smiles and there's so much love in it that Carol could almost imagine what it's like having a bond like that with your mother.

After Mama got custody, Carol only saw her mom occasionally before postcards from faraway places replaced her physical presence. They’d randomly show up in the mail: Reno NV, Cheyenne WY, Santa Fe NM, El Paso TX... Eventually, they stopped coming too. So, she doesn’t have that connection to her own mother, but if Carol ever has children of her own, she wants to give them all the love her mom couldn’t give her.

“This is sooo good,” the other girl moans around a mouthful and Carol beams at the praise. Her eating and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand reminds Carol of Dixon and she smiles at the sight... and the thought of him.

She’s seen him twice since the picnic. Once, while he scarfed down his food so fast it looked like he was afraid that someone would take it from him and the other time had been awkward. Dixon had seemed lost in thought, staring out into the darkness, not really saying anything. Carol doesn’t know if he was uncomfortable with her after the picnic. If people had implied something to him. She also doesn’t know what she was thinking, dressing up like a slut and almost throwing herself at the man over a game of Cornhole. So embarrassing. It’s not wonder if Dixon is uncomfortable around her.

The sound of the door opening snatches Carol from her thoughts and there he is. He halfway raises his hand in greeting, but when the other girl turns around to face him, Dixon does a double take, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

“Hi Dad.”

He doesn’t reply. His whole body is still and Carol isn’t sure he’s even breathing. It looks like shock, like ‘hi dad’ is way too much to take in. Wait. What? This is Lydia? She isn’t at all what Carol pictured in her mind. She’d expected a nice Midwestern girl—wholesome and milkfed—not someone sophisticated and armed for bear.

Lydia gets up, walks over to him and after a moment of them staring at each other—Dixon looks like he’s seeing a ghost—she hugs him. Lydia’s tall, but skinny, so when he very tentatively raises his arms to embrace her, she vanishes within the span of his biceps. The moment expands... Then there’s a small sound coming from him, almost like a whimper and his arms tighten around the girl.

Carol tears up at the sight. It’s so heartfelt, almost like finding long lost family and she can see it so clearly now. Those cheekbones are her dad’s, just like the table manners.

When Dixon releases his daughter, his hand hover by her cheek, not quite touching her. “How are you here?” His voice is small and filled with wonder, but Lydia only covers his hand with hers, holds it against her cheek for a moment.

“I need to talk to you. Can we take a walk?” she says finally and Carol busies herself with wiping down the counter. Staring at imaginary stains. It’s a reunion—a family moment and she’s an intruder. Of course they want some privacy. “I need to get my bow and pay up.”

A couple of steps later, Lydia is once more in her field of vision, bending over to grab her fancy bow. Carol remembers Dixon saying his wife hunted with a bow, so she wonders if this is that bow. Lydia’s mom must have taught her how to use it and Carol swallows against the sudden lump in her throat. All she learned from her mom was to stick her hand into a pocket or purse without anyone noticing and help herself to its contents.

“How much do I owe you?”

Carol wills her tears to subside. It’s stupid to be jealous over a relationship Lydia doesn’t have anymore, just as stupid as being jealous of Dixon’s late wife. The irony of that being the same person isn’t lost on Carol, but she shouldn’t covet what other people have. Or had. Envy is a sin and Lydia deserves more consideration. She’s nice, like her dad and Carol’s mom might be lost, but she isn’t dead. Carol really has to work harder at being a better person.

“It’s on the house,” she says, forcing a smile, but she can feel her chin wobble. “For being the first to try it.”

Lydia looks at her, scans her face for something—Carol’s pretty sure that in the background Dixon studies her too, but she won’t raise her gaze to look at him. “Thank you,” the other girl says, “It was nice to meet you.” It’s a thing people say to be polite, but something about Lydia suggests that she actually means it.

“It’s nice meeting you too,” Carol attempts another smile. She wasn’t raised in a barn, she has some manners, but she makes the mistake of casting a glance over Lydia’s shoulder to acknowledge Dixon’s presence. He’s watching them like a hawk. Expression unreadable, but unblinking. Then Carol sees that he too has tears in his eyes. When Lydia clears her throat, she snaps back into reality.

“All right, Dad, let’s go.”

Dixon holds the door open for his daughter and Carol watches them for a moment through the window. They move in sync towards his bike. Dixon gestures to her bow and Lydia shrugs, showing him how it’s strapped to her back. It’s wholesome. A dad being concerned for his daughter’s safety on the back of the bike. Carol’s own dad is... not thoughtful like that.

She looks away. She should be working, not spying on the customers. With a sigh, Carol grabs the empty bowl to put it in the washer, but glancing down, the alphabet pasta letters left at the bottom don’t say LYDIA. It says NOTED. Like, she agrees with something? Carol frowns and then decides that she’s being stupid. Again. Lydia didn’t leave her a message. Why would she? They don’t know each other like that. Lydia’s last mouthful just got interrupted because her dad showed up. There’s even a piece of meat in there, so unless that’s part of the secret message, Carol’s imagining things. As usual.

Thank you for reading 🙏 I've had a lot of long tedious posts, so I hope this one was better/more enjoyable. Happy Mother's Day.

#caryl #caryl fanfiction #sweet summer child #snippet #motherless daughters

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