I Never Imagined I Would Feel Jealous of My Own Child

I never in a million years thought Id be jealous of my own child. It sounds terrible, even just thinking the words, but its true.

When my daughter was born, I was twenty-sixyoung, nervous but incredibly happy. My whole life started to revolve around her. I left my job to stay home and look after her. Nate, my husband, worked on building sites, so he was away a lot. I became everythingmum, dad, and her closest friend all rolled into one.

The years just flew by. She grew, and I was bursting with pride at every little thing she did. Id buy her new dresses for school events, stay up late while she revised, and on Sundays Id bake her favourite Victoria sponge. My life was all about her, though I couldnt see it back then.

When she hit her teenage years, she started pulling away. Everyone says its normalkids become their own people. I kept telling myself that, but inside me was this emptiness. She didnt tell me everything anymore. She had secrets, her mates, her own world where I wasnt the main character.

Then came her leavers prom. Ill never forget watching her coming down the stairs in her dress, my breath genuinely caught in my throat. She was stunning, so self-assured, absolutely glowing. Next to her was a young lad who was looking at her like shed hung the moon. Instead of just feeling proud, I suddenly felt this fear, this pang that I was losing her.

When she moved to university in Manchester, the house went quiet overnight. Id get up in the morning, and no one would be rushing about getting ready for sixth form. No notebooks scattered all over the table, no laughter echoing down the hallway. Nate had gotten used to the silence, but for me it felt like a punishment.

I started ringing her every single day. Id ask what shed had for tea, where shed been, who she was out with. I could feel her getting a bit closed off, sometimes not answering at all. I took it personally. I kept thinkingI gave my whole life to her, and now shes too busy to talk to me.

One weekend she came home and she just seemed differentmore independent, more grown up. She talked about her new plans, an internship, all these dreams she had. And there I was, instead of just being happy for her, rattling off how tough life is, how careful she needed to be, how the world could be dangerous. I saw how her eyes clouded over. It hit me, right thenI was smothering her with my worries.

That same evening, I sat alone in the kitchen and really asked myself who I was, besides being her mum. For so long I just didnt have an answer. Id built my whole life around herthe highs, the lowsand somehow lost track of myself.

So, I joined an evening bookkeeping course. Id always been good with numbers but never had the nerve to start something new. Managed to get a part-time job at a local office, and got back in touch with my girlfriends after years of hardly seeing them. The first steps were hard, but gradually I found myself breathing easier.

My relationship with my daughter changed too. I stopped bombarding her with questions as if she was still a child. I started listening to her like an adult, and she began to share more with me off her own back. I realised that loving someone isnt about clinging tight, but about giving them wings.

I still miss her, of course. I miss her voice chattering away in the next room, the noise and the bustle. But Im not jealous of her life anymore. I watch her moving forward and I feel proud to be the roots, not the weight holding her down.

Ive learned that our kids arent our possessions. Theyre guests in our home for a little while. Our job isnt to keep them, but to help them leave feeling strong and capable.

And I finally understoodno woman should lose herself completely in being a mum. Because when the kids are grown up and gone, you need something of yourself left to hold on to.