For a period of time, I was a shitty daughter.

But first I was the Baby. The beloved infant, cute and adorable. Chubby, giggly, compliant. The third daughter, a real live baby doll to be coddled and played with.

Then, I was the Brat. The talkative, mimic-what-you-say, tattle tale, cry baby, little sister. Annoying, unwelcome.

So I became Silent. The beginning of the hostilities. Secretive, aloof, shrugs and monosyllabic answers. The shell hardening.

Next came Rebellious. Lying, sneaking out, unacceptable boyfriends. Eye rolls, talking back, defiance. Testing the boundaries.

“It’s a phase,” she always said, my mother minimizing my behavior, refusing to look beneath. “She’ll grow out of it.” 

Wisdom or wishful thinking?

Throughout all the stages: perfect attendance at school and church, wearing handmade matching dresses with the older sisters on holidays, sending thank you notes for every gift ever received from anyone, parents included. 

It wasn’t enough.

Next phase, Interrupted. Family home sold, pulled out of public school, maybe a new condo and private academy for the last child living at home would “snap her out of it”.

Followed quickly thereafter by Abandoned. Parents off to Hawaii, condo sold, boarding school on Long Island. A sudden rupture providing momentary relief with a longer term cost.

Enter the Shitty stage. Anything to stay distant, hiding, withholding, judging, sniping, pretending. This would last for thirty years.

Illness ushered in the phase of connection, reconciliation, maturity, being seen.

And death provided the space for healing and perspective, forgiveness and understanding, responsibility and healthy boundaries. I was ready to take my place.

This way forward, say the Wise Ones, beckoning. Love that wounded child and embrace her with compassion, non judgment and forgiveness... that is how you will find your own wisdom and learn to care for the world.