There is a Simon & Garfunkel song called “I am a Rock” that often goes through my head when I think about being vulnerable. Here is the last verse:

I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries.

Source: Musixmatch

Songwriters: Paul Simon

I Am a Rock lyrics © Paul Simon Music, Lorna Music Co Ltd

I think about that with respect to my oldest daughter. We have been taking small steps toward rebuilding the relationship; really she was trying harder than I was. I was afraid to trust again; afraid to care, afraid of what that might bring. If I don’t care, I don’t risk hurting later.

My daughter apparently got pretty sick with COVID around Christmas. Her COVID test was negative but mid-twenties young adults don’t typically have chest pain and severe headache for 11 days unless it is that. Just this week, she texted that she tested for the COVID antibodies so she either had it recently or sometime in the past months.

Her texts have been infrequent for the last month and I found myself concerned about her. I know it sounds strange to say that the depth of my concern surprised me but just know that I have spent years being an emotional rock with her. I had felt agonizing emotional pain over her before hardening my heart; I had cried what felt like buckets of tears. I was determined not to feel again even though I knew that view was a bit warped.

My brain has gone into overdrive at her pulling back. She is really sick and maybe worse. Or, what if she isn’t sick and she went back to stealing, lost her job and now she is facing more charges and the COVID talk is just a smokescreen? Maybe she is just stringing us along and we have fallen back into the same old dysfunctional pattern of not being able to believe anything she says.

I again surprised myself that I was worried about whether she had done something to mess up her job. She has been the right-hand person for a fast food eating establishment. She’s solidly working and trusted by the owner. Surely the nightmare of her past behaviors won’t repeat. My brain is illogical when it comes to her. The PTSD of her past actions sometimes still rears its head and sends me off into scenarios that play on a repeat loop in my head.

Something happened today that hugely reassured me. The owner posted a social media tribute to my daughter for the 2^nd anniversary of her working there. The owner referred to my daughter as her manager and described her as “leading with compassion and integrity”. I was flooded with relief that my warped brain had just been spinning needlessly. My daughter is trusted at work. That’s huge. There were years where I never thought I would ever hear that.

It’s four years this month that she got out of jail. I don’t know how long it will take before I can fully relax and look calmly to the future with her. I wish I could see that she will stay honest and be able to say confidently to her skeptical siblings that she is fine, and they can trust her. They don’t want to hear about her at all, much less believe that she has changed. I understand. I struggle too.

It’s hard to care again. If I care, I’m vulnerable. Somewhere between our visit to her, her husband and little girl last November and now, my heart turned from a rock to beating again. That scares me.

I’m going to end with this picture for all of us who are trying to move forward to restore relationships. Build a bridge. Rickety is fine. Now step onto it.