Becoming Selene: A Really Sad Country Song
I’m going to be honest here. The first time I read this submission, I had to stop.
It was too raw.
The crazy thing is, it’s written by the aunt of a teen. Not someone parenting a teenager day-to-day.
And yet, this aunt nails it.
She nails it.
The agony of no longer knowing how to love someone you love so desperately.
I’ll let her explain it.
“Lately, I’ve been wondering if anyone ever wrote a really sad country song about the unrequited love one gives to a teenager. Namely, I was wondering this as I drove down I-30 in the rain, blinking through wild tears, while listening to a sad country song.
The first baby I ever held was my younger sister. She was shoved into my arms as a pink newborn. The first baby I ever loved was my niece, Milly. She was born when I was in my twenties. She offered a simple respite from my complicated dating world, my professional life, and graduate school.
I immersed myself in loving her – baking her a from-scratch, complicated birthday cake every year, buying and sending her clothes and toys, and spending every free moment in her gaze when I visited her. She was so easy to love.
But over time, reader, she grew. And as she was approaching adolescence, I was having my own babies, and immersing myself in their birthdays and their wardrobes. Across the country, my niece was coming of age, battling depression and cutting and social pressures and an alcoholic father, and I was too tired and too far away, in every sense, to maintain a strong connection.
Still, I genuinely still felt I held onto my cool aunt, camp counselor, therapist, and mentor status.
Then, last year, out of the blue, she announced on a family vacation that she was dropping out of in-person high school and enrolling in virtual school. Mental health challenges, namely crippling anxiety and a myriad of health issues stemming from that including migraines, stomach cramps, and panic attacks made in-person school feel overwhelming and she felt she could be more successful learning and managing her schedule at home. I was visibly shaken by the news and found it hard to voice my approval. I saw my dreams for her dying, and I struggled to find acceptance for her choices.
On a different family trip that same year, a conversation about a long distance boyfriend who she had never met in person surfaced, and I fumbled for the words. I wondered out loud why she wouldn’t want to explore a relationship with someone local, with whom she could share her love for animals, live music, and WaWa iced coffee. Once again, I fell short.
On the phone today on I-30, my sister shared Milly’s trepidation about our Christmas planning. Sharing, ‘she’s worried and nervous about being forced to do things together and about people asking questions about her life.’
I can’t do anything right. I can’t say anything right.
The love languages that I have relied on may as well be in secret code. I’ve failed at connecting, failed at finding unmitigated approval for her choices, and I’ve failed at being her soft place to land.
So, blinking tears, I imagined the sad country song was about a teenager, and on the other side a forty something year old woman pining for easier, simpler times, monkey shaped birthday cakes and sand angels.”