She’s only 7. Strong Willed. Determined. Yet, with a soft heart. She tears up when hearing words of love shared between others. I wonder if I’m doing it right. Raising her that is. We argue a great deal. She seems to fight me on everything. I would love to be able to hear how she really feels about me, about us. She’s still so young and can’t communicate in the way I want her to. I love her so and only hope she isn’t scarred from two homes, two languages and cultures. Two worlds by which she’s just trying to survive and be the best for her father and me.
Will I have the life with her my mother so desperately wanted from me? Will she talk with me? Share? Open up about her hopes and dreams, and pains. I see myself in her eyes. I see her father in her actions.
My heart aches sometimes thinking about her and her emotional well-being. Maybe too much, sometimes. I know I’m doing the best I can. Sometimes I just wish it was easier.