My Cantankerous Brilliant Daughter Almost Broke Me

Let me tell you something about my daughter. She’s fucking amazing. Now, I get that every parent thinks their kid is great. But other people actually think my kid is amazing too. Strangers approach me to rave about her. At least NOW they do, but throughout her childhood, all I ever heard were offensive parenting critiques.

A preview of my daughter’s iron will emerged in toddlerhood and by the time preschool rolled around I was weary. She threw world-class temper tantrums. I wanted my kid to be good at something but being a stubborn pain-in-the-ass wasn’t what I had in mind. Once a neighbor banged on my door and threatened to call the police because of my daughter was screaming like a banshee. I invited the woman inside and she witnessed playdoh Armageddon first hand – the neighbor left embarrassed and I banished playdoh from our morning activities.

My baby is strong-willed, I told myself, that’s an excellent quality in an adult if I can manage to stay sane until she reaches adulthood.

Besides her laser focus, my daughter’s mind works differently than most. She devoted recess to studying insects on the playground instead of playing with other children. She had a gifted mind, but she was socially inept, easily bored, and tragically compassionate. She couldn’t relate to kids her own age. She was bright, creative, and kind but her behavior and interactions were so challenging that everyone shared an opinion about how I should “handle it”.

The truth is, people weren’t only judging me because of my daughter’s behavior. I was a young mom, only 16 when she was born and I looked even younger. My wailing child and exacerbated expression were reminiscent of a condom ad. Add “difficult behavior” and we were a beacon for criticism.

The criticism stung, but I kept parenting my way. I was a little crunchy – not full blown hippie but headed in that direction. My parenting focused on unity, acceptance, and self-value. I disciplined my child with time-outs, behavior charts, and lots of other suggestions – just never spanking. Mostly, I smiled and nodded at the unsolicited advice, but occasionally I lost my patience. Once I snapped at my sweet grandmother, “Not to yell at my child.” Grandma forgave me but the rest of the family joshes about it endlessly.

My daughter’s anxiety worsened in grade school. She bawled every morning. Each day, I received a note, or email, or phone call detailing her difficult behavior in school. Inevitably, my baby was labeled a problem child and I a problem mother.

Third grade nearly broke us. By that point, I’d consulted numerous specialists and counselors – ADHD they said. We tried several medications but they only amplified her issues. Despite being exceedingly bright, she was failing spelling and handwriting. No matter how many hours we reviewed at the kitchen table, the kid couldn’t spell. The school wanted to hold her back, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Third grade bored her the first time. Repeating it was senseless. With a fight she matriculated. Her third-grade teacher announced his retirement at the end of the year. “I’d retire too if I had her in my class,” another teacher commented, pointing to my daughter. The teacher likely meant it as a joke, but the memory still haunts my baby.

In fourth grade, my princess was diagnosed with Lyme disease. She received treatment and nearly all of the ADHD symptoms resolved. But she still couldn’t spell, and her handwriting was still atrocious, and she was still a stubborn pain-in-the-ass. She marched through grade school like a bagpiper in a rock band – all her own beat.

In middle school, she blossomed thanks to nurturing sixth-grade teachers. Finally, someone else saw past her anxiety and cultivated her brilliance. In sixth grade, she received straight A’s and those straight A’s continued. She graduated high school, third in her class, and with more than a semester of college credits already completed.

If you gave my daughter a third-grade spelling test today she would fail it. If you try to read her handwriting today, you’ll never understand it. Yet in high school she independently designed, built, and tested a device that gave cockroaches the ability to sense magnetic fields.

She’s still a stubborn pain-in-the-ass, but now it’s a beneficial quality – they call it determined. She’s pursuing a double major at a competitive engineering school on an academic scholarship. She attended her first college career fair this year, where every freshman gets a “No”. But my daughter never quite understood the word “no”.

“Thank you,” she replied sweetly, “And I would love to get your feedback on my research.” Whipping out her iPad, she presented all of her accolades despite their rejection. She secured countless interviews and two impressive internship offers that day. This summer she has an internship with a great company (making more than many college graduates). All because she’s a stubborn pain in the ass – I mean determined.

I’m pretty damn proud of the way my daughter turned out. I’m glad I ignored the years of critique. I’m really glad I stayed sane. Maybe my experience with my daughter is why I giggle when I receive criticism about my son. He’s in third grade now and he’s a stubborn pain-in-the-ass.

About the author: Jessie is a marijuana mommy blogger at www.FlusteredMom.com. She’s a registered nurse and medical marijuana patient/advocate. She’s passionate about holistic health and family wellness. Her work has appeared on GoodHousekeeping, Cosmoplitan, Woman’s Day, Redbook, and more.  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/FlusteredMom1/  Twitter: https://twitter.com/Flustered_Mom