I’m sort of reeling today.
I read a post that I will not link to written by a woman who basically said that she loved her son more than her daughter. Oh, she admits that she is not a perfect parent, but there it is.
She can imagine her daughter being taken away from her (in a custody battle, she explains in the update to her post, not by DEATH, silly) but she cannot imagine letting go of her son.
She also hopes that the baby that she’s carrying now is a girl, so that she can have a great start with her and maybe through that learn to better parent her daughter.
I admit to skimming the post in parts, so it’s entirely possible that I missed a gem, but I bet that if she were asked why the hell she wrote this for the world to read, as opposed to sharing it with her therapist, for example, she’d say something along the lines of “so others who feel the same way wouldn’t feel so alone.”
And having put those words into her mouth, let me call bullshit on it.
Because in my opinion, it isn’t helpful. If someone feels like they are not attached enough to one of their children, that’s a signal to get help, not to bask in the comfort of knowing that they’re not alone. Admittedly, my knowledge of attachment disorders is limited to General Hospital, but hopefully there is help available.
I love blogging, I really do. I’m all for exposing children’s foibles and laughing at so many situations that I find myself in as a parent. I post and tweet a lot about the misunderstandings and the annoyances and, Sweet Lord, the exhaustion of being a mother.
But this is something else.
What the post helped me realize is that I have very strong limits about what I will blog about. That despite my “I made you, I can write about you” approach to my children, their emotional well-being is very important to me.
Even more important than pageviews.
One year ago ...
- The Pope is no Longer Polish - 2013