I Never Imagined I’d Feel Jealous of My Own Child

Never did I imagine Id end up jealous of my own child.
It sounds rather awful, even just thinking it. But thats the plain truth.
When my daughter was born, I was just twenty-sixyoung, terrified, yet happy. My whole world spun around her. I quit my job to look after her. My husband worked on building sites, away half the time. So, there I wasmum, dad, best mate, the works.
The years somehow slipped by. She grew up, and I beamed with pride at every new thing she did. Bought her fancy dresses for school dos, stayed up late with her revising, baked her favourite shepherds pie every Sunday. I lived through her, though I didnt see it at the time.
Then the teenage years arrived, and she started drifting. Perfectly normal, I kept reassuring myself. Thats how children become adults, right? But inside me, a pit formed; she stopped telling me everything. Now there were secrets, mates, a world I wasnt the centre of.
And then came the big school-leavers ball. Watching her walk down the stairs in her dress, looking stunning and completely self-assured, my breath caught. Standing next to her was a lad, gazing at her in awe. And there, alongside pride, was something elsefear that I was losing her.
When she left for university in Manchester, the house practically echoed with the quiet. No more rushing in the mornings, no books scattered about, no laughter echoing up the stairs. My husband had taken to the silence like a duck to water, but for me, it was like penance.
I started ringing her every dayWhat are you eating? Where have you been? Who are you with? I felt her get cooler, more reserved. Sometimes she wouldnt even pick up. Then Id take it personally. Id think, Ive given my whole life to her, and now she cant spare me five minutes?
One weekend, she came home. I could tell shed changedmore independent, more sure of herself. She told me about her new plans, work experience, all sorts of dreams. Instead of cheering her on, I started with the warningshow tough it is out there, how careful she must be. I saw her eyes dim. That was the first time I realised I was suffocating her.
That evening, while on my own in the kitchen, I finally asked myself: who am I, aside from being Mum? For ages, I couldnt find an answer. Id become used to living through her successes and worries. Id forgotten about me.
I signed up for an evening accounting course. Numbers had always come naturally, just never had the nerve for a fresh start. I even landed a part-time job. I started meeting old friends for coffeethe ones Id sidelined for years. The first steps were awkward, but gradually I felt myself breathing easier.
Things shifted with my daughter. I stopped grilling her like a child, started listening like an adult. Slowly, she started opening up to me, on her terms. I learned that loving her isnt about holding on for dear lifeits about giving her wings.
Of course, I still miss her. I miss hearing her upstairs, the chatter, her sheer presence. But I no longer envy her life. I watch her forging her path and feel proudlike Im part of her foundation, not an obstacle in her way.
Children arent our property, Ive realised. Theyre guests in our homes for a little while. Our job isnt to keep them foreverits to give them what they need to stride out, head held high.
And Ive learned this too: that a woman shouldnt vanish beneath the title Mum. When the children leave, she should still be whole.