My twenty year old daughter, Alexis, gave me a nice psychological gift two weeks ago. She shared with me some of the ways I had hurt her as she was growing up.

When she was eighteen, she told me she was angry at me because she thought I had expected her to be a perfect child. She remembered I had given her more criticism than praise in raising her. Since this is how my parents raised me, I assumed there was validity to her complaint and told her so. Also, I'm embarrassed to write, when she was young I hadn't done my own painful exploration of childhood experiences until a clinical depression forced me to do so. As a result, I wasn't fully aware of the depth of my own pain and shame which I believe I passed to her.

This time she talked to my wife and me as we were driving down to Salt Lake City. At first, she complained we had favored our son over her. My wife became defensive about this, claiming she did not see it that way. Brilliant therapist that I saw myself to be, I calmly handled Alexis' complaint well by empathizing with her view and legitimizing her feelings. I thought there was validity to what she was saying.

But when she started to share how she felt I had hurt her, my anxiety level went up. No longer was I the calm, objective psychologist but a defensive, guilt-ridden parent.

What was she going to talk about?, I asked myself with mounting anxiety. And in front of my wife! The times when I became too angry with her, times I shall probably always remember with a wince of guilt? The marital struggles my wife and I had when she was a child and how they impacted her? My threatening as a joke that the Mount Helena monster would get her if she didn't behave which she later told me had frightened her badly?

Even though she was driving, Alexis began to tear up. Struck between wanting to tell me about the pain I had inflicted on her and a fear of doing so, she finally screwed up the courage to tell me that she remembered times when I had promised to take her swimming at the YMCA but didn't. With tears streaming down her face, she said it was very painful for a little girl to have her Daddy make promises and then not keep them.

I was shocked and saddened by what she said. My memory was of the many times I took her swimming and how I'd toss her up into the pool while she screamed with delight. What I saw as a source of good parenting, she thought of as painful.

I wasn't going to argue with her, however. I had no memory of breaking promises to take her swimming but her tears told me I had. The best response I could have for her was to listen, validate her pain, admit I was an imperfect parent but affirm I still loved her.

I guess most parents wound their children to a greater or lesser degree no matter how much we love them. Most of the time it is unintentional and inadvertent. Based on Alexis' observations, perhaps many times we don't even realize we've hurt them. Since they experienced the pain, however, they still remember what we did even though we have long forgotten it.

But there can still be recovery for our adult children. The most healing thing one person who has hurt another can do is listen to her feelings, try not to defend or rationalize his actions, admit to his mistakes and promise to try to not let them happen again.

So thanks, Alexis, for the gift of pain. You honor your mother and me by telling us of your hurt and anger. You express deep trust in us that you can share your negative emotions and not be afraid our relationship will be strained.

You know, of course, we both love you very much, however imperfectly we have done so. Thanks also for your forgiveness of our human fallibility.

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