Free Come Back by Claire Fontaine

everything she does. You must let her make some of her own choices.
    “Colleen, she’s lost so much weight her ribs stick out, and she’s always tired. Are you sure she’s not depressed or doing drugs or still having issues about her old dad?”
    No, Claire, Mia is not depressed and her weight is fine. Mia’s not doing drugs. And she never talks about her old dad.
    The stress level at home had escalated, and Mia seemed increasingly determined to provoke me. As only a child can do, she had the dynamic between Paul and me down to a science.
    Paul and I had let little things between us fester for a long time. He hated conflict so much that even a simple disagreement made him squirm. He liked staying under the radar at all costs. Which is what makes submarines so deadly. He punished with such graciousness and refined manners, it was almost possible to believe him when he’d say, who, me, passive aggressive?
    There’s little that’s passive about me. I’m expressive, the barometer that gets blamed for the storms. Granted, I did cause some of the storms. I practically had my own weather system that summer. I felt like I was in the middle of a tornado, barely hanging on while my life blew out of control around me.
     
    “Paul, she’s been in that bathroom for an hour and I don’t hear the shower running. I don’t care what Colleen says about her privacy, I’m going in there.”
    Don’t come in, she yelled when I knocked. My antenna shot up and I pushed on the door. Noo!! she yelled. Paul was hissing at me to leave her the hell alone. I pushed harder and found her standing there with her razor.
    “Mia, what are you doing?” I asked, puzzled.
    “What do you think I’m doing!”
    “I have no idea,” I said honestly.
    She looked angry at my ignorance. Then she started crying and said, Mommy, I’ve been cutting myself. I put my arms around her and said, what, when you shave your legs, honey? We’ll get you an electric shaver. She sunk down to the floor and I sank with her, bewildered.
    No, Mommy, cutting as in self-mutilating.
    Self-what??
    Neither Paul nor I had ever heard of such a thing. She may as well have told us she grew a third arm. As if the looks on our faces weren’t bad enough, I blurted, “But, it’s so weird! Mia, why would you do such a thing?”
    I wanted to understand the feelings that drove her to do it. But, all she heard was “you’re weird,” and it was downhill from there. Everyone started crying and she was so upset that I was upset, she ended up comforting me.
    “Don’t worry, Mommy, Colleen said it’s not that unheard of.”
    “Colleen knew?” Paul and I blurted in unison.
    We were appalled. I thought therapists of minors had to divulge something like that. Colleen later said that Mia wanted to deal with it on her own. And the implication was that I was largely the cause.
    Really? I alone had the power to make my strong-willed daughter ladder her thighs with so many slits they looked like a giant grosgrain ribbon? To make her stop showering, become obsessed with Johnny Rotten, drop her best friends to hang out with the Wicca queen, and lose ten pounds in a month? Wow, all that power in one single mother? Why bother with therapy, all Mia needed was a surge protector.
    Maybe all that power sizzled my synapses, but I’m wondering, doctor, there’s no chance that this has anything to do with her being molested? Imean, maybe it’s a stretch, but all this having happened after she asked for the reports of her abuse, there’s no chance at all? Call me thickheaded, but I just have to ask.
    No, Claire, this isn’t about her old dad, Colleen told me. Again.
    Some part of me must have had enough dismissal, or maybe it was all my fault; maybe I was simply tired of it all. Because I didn’t do what I usually do, which is to get information, gather knowledge, so I can analyze, judge, execute, fix. I just wanted Mia to stop doing it and she did. I knew because she showed me the countless