Unleashed

When told to jump, that’s what I did. My paper airplane ticket used as a bookmark took an unintended trip a few hot summers ago. We were out on a friend’s houseboat – a sizeable vessel in the middle of Lake Powell in Utah, on vacation. It was a gorgeous day, sun overhead and bright with a bit of breeze kicking up. The lake full of boaters and water skiers zipping around… vacationers taking advantage of summer’s bounty as laughter mingled with the scent of Coppertone and birdshit. Gulls gliding, their raucous calls echoing from boat to boat. I lay on my back, sunning myself, reading the next chapter of Jackie Collins-styled smutwork. As I turned the page, my plane ticket took flight as a liberated butterfly, carried on the wings of a passing breeze. It fluttered through the air, gracefully, landing in the shimmering black waves of the lake.

“Better jump in after that if you want to fly home with us tomorrow,” my Dad remarked, casually from his perch behind me.

Without a second thought, I dove off the boat. “Janie! What the …” Carla's dad's words were lost to the muffled sounds of water in my ears, and the shock of hitting the heavy leaded water, thrashing me. Shaking off the shock, I hoped no one noticed my stupid stunt. I popped up and looked around before spotting my soggy ticket floating nearby. Sodden ticket retrieved, I swam back to the boat to the frown of a very concerned parent. It wasn’t mine.

Mom and Dad glanced down at me, amused expressions on their faces as Carla’s dad ranted about my rashness

What I did, wasn’t rash. It wasn’t even a decision. Dad said to jump. That’s what I did. No other choice.

Carla’s dad worried I’d be hit by other boats motoring around the lake, not to mention I dove off the upper berth of the boat – a good twenty feet in the air. He looked at my father, shaking his head, “You know Stu, they’d have replaced it. She didn’t need to jump.” Dad shrugged, glancing at me with a subtle smile. Pride? Carla handed me a towel and led me down into the cabin to dry off. She was speechless, a rarity for her.

My parents love me, but they’re not cuddlers or overt with displays of affection. I was taught to obey and not to ask questions. My sister and I learned to toe the line – or expect the consequences. As the older sibling, I was watched more closely and became the people-pleaser I am today. Lara, not so much…. she was the rebel. She figured out how to get away with things. I was too busy trying to get things right.

Can’t say it served me well. I’ve been a puppet and spent the last few years working to shed those annoying strings. Being a people-pleaser isn’t great, especially when married to a self-serving narcissist. That came later. As did the five daughters I raised with that narcissist.

When I visit my parents now, they question my child-rearing skills, certain my children are unruly, undisciplined and reckless. Dad thinks I should train them like dogs - with a firm hand and no non-sense rules to keep them in line. When told to “Sit” – they should do that – no questions asked. Despite my strict upbringing, I opted for a different model. I want my children to manage their own lives.

Sure, as babies I’d keep them from running in the street or riding their bikes without a helmet. But now as they’re moving through adolescence and into adulthood, I want them to own their choices and decisions. Let them be the ones holding the leash, not waiting for someone to tell them what to do, how to do it or when to do it. I want them to learn consequences for their behavior without threats and scare tactics.

Agency is the term buzzed about these days. I never knew what that was. Didn’t know I needed it. That is until now – newly divorced, struggling to make sense of it all. For most of my life, I didn’t own the leash dragging me around.

I’ve been pulled down the street, run up trees after squirrels, and thrust into oncoming traffic. Worst of all were the times I was left neglected, tied to a tree, alone – while he found other dogs to play with. Took years and mountains of therapy before I could shrug off that leash. I’m still working at it.

Earlier this year I celebrated my youngest’s 18th birthday with dark chocolate and champagne. I deserved to honor my ability to keep all five alive until adulthood and they appear to be thriving, despite making mistakes and stumbling through life. Each girl favors me – strawberry blonde hair and ocean blue eyes. But that’s where the similarities end. Sabrina is the household comedienne, teaching us to laugh at ourselves. Sarah is serious, full of righteous indignation over the state of things in the world. Carrie, my party girl who despite her easy-going, fun-loving ways, holds her cards close to her chest. Darci, my homebody, surprised me by moving away for college and loves her newfound independence. And newly married Diana is starting her own journey of self-discovery and self-reckoning.

I’m proud of the individuals they’re growing into, even when giving me an eye roll or offhand biting remark. Every one of them would stop and question me if instructed to jump off a bridge or the top of a boat to retrieve a replaceable airline ticket. They’d hem and haw and most importantly, think first. I’ve done something right.

As challenging as raising five strong willed, fiercely independent, intelligent young women is, I’m thankful for this journey – despite the bumps in the road. I’ve learned perseverance, faith in something higher than myself and the power of love. I’ve shed the leash and learned to listen to and trust my inner voice.