Some days I am too afraid to wake her. For fear that she may not cope with the day ahead. The challenges she may face or even simple tasks.
Some days I put her to bed early. She struggles to relax, she struggles to settle, she struggles to switch off but I know it's the best place for her.
Some days I just want to hold her. I want to embrace her so tightly and to not let go.
I want her to pour her heart out to me. I want her to let those tears that are built up inside her out.
Some days I wish I could convince her that she is doing a good job. And that eventually everything will be ok.
Some days I want to shake her. I want to tell her that she is ok as she is. That she doesn't have to try so hard. That it's ok to not be liked by everyone.
Some days I want her to just sit back. I want her to just be quiet. To just take stock of what is around her. And if people ask what the matter is, and to ask why she is quiet, for her to not feel she has to be anything else. That she can just be having one of those days when she doesn't need to be in everyone's face.
I want her to know that she doesn't have to live up to this expectation others have of her. This false expectation.
Some days I want her to know that if people are talking behind her back, if people are judging her or saying things about her, that it's ok.
I want her to know that she can't do anything about it. She can't stop them.
Some days I want to take her away. I want to take her away from everything so she can work on herself, without influence from others.
So she can work out who she really is.
Some days I want her to know that those tears she sheds, the ones she is unafraid to show others, doesn't show that she is weak.
In fact, the fact that she is able to let them fill her eyes slowly and then fall down her cheeks, wiped away by her index finger where it will sit for a while and soak into her skin, it shows her strength.
The strength that she can show others her struggles.
Her strength to let others know that she is not ok, that she feels like she will break at any moment.
The fact that maybe she needs help. Maybe she needs a bit more praise, maybe she needs to know that she is doing ok.
Some days I want to grab the weights on her shoulders, all of the things that are piling up making her feel so heavy. I want to take them and throw them away. Or temporarily put them in a pile, so we can gradually go through them and decide which ones matter and which ones belong there. Which ones we can throw away and forget about.
Some days I want her to know that I am here. And that she doesn't need to feel scared. She doesn't need to feel like she has no one.
Because she has me.
Always here, always fighting for her.
Always wanting her to be ok.
Always loving her for who she is, no matter who that person is.
