“The Party, the Tattoos, and the Thank You I Wanted.”
My daughter turned 23 this weekend, and I gathered friends, family, delicious food, and beauty to celebrate her.
I bought the ingredients for Aperol spritzes, ordered arancini for an appetizer, decorated the house with helium balloons, sunflowers, and anemones, and made Stan’s famous coleslaw along with her favorite mac and cheese. I worked hard, and I was thrilled to give her an evening that was all hers.
The next day, around 4 p.m., she texted me a photo of her new tattoos: a salt and a pepper shaker, inked in honor of her late father, who had a salt-and-pepper mustache.
She asked if I liked them.
I wish I could have said yes without hesitation. But the truth is, her message landed like a knife in the softest place. It felt like she’d found my Achilles heel and was pressing down hard.
What made the text sting wasn’t just the tattoos. It was that she honored her father in that moment — and I was the one who had just spent hours preparing her party, making her favorite foods, creating beauty for her — and I hadn’t been thanked. That contrast cut deep.
I know better now. A text is just pixels on a screen — it was my own perception that cut like glass.
Still, an old picture flickered back: the masculine towering above, the feminine shrinking below — and me, disappearing in the shadow of worthlessness.
When I start to feel like a starving tiger, I know what to do. First, I let myself feel it. Then I get curious. What’s inside this emotional cocktail?
And I saw it. I saw the wound of feeling unworthy. I knew that wound is mine to heal — not hers or anyone else’s. She just poked it. And then I saw what I wanted: to be acknowledged. To be thanked.
As soon as I named it, my chest tightened, and I wanted to crawl under a big blanket. Asking for what I want — even something small — feels like standing naked in the street.
So when my body calmed the next day, I picked up the phone. I told my daughter what I had realized: I’d created a game she couldn’t win. I wanted a certain kind of appreciation, and she didn’t know it.
When I first shared my experience with her, it didn’t go well. She was hurt. And that’s the hardest part of speaking my truth — it doesn’t always land softly. My partner reminded me that, in that moment, I was actually teaching her how to ask for what she wants with others. That insight helped me immensely.
Later, she called me back. We had a beautiful, rich conversation that brought us closer.
The truth is, the day after her party, she was busy, and time slipped away. I get that. She wasn’t wrong. She didn’t know what I wanted.
I didn’t know either until upset cracked me open. That’s the gift of upset — it drags our hidden wants into the light.
It made me laugh later when I thought of the Rolling Stones: You Can’t Always Get What You Want.
Because yes — you can’t always get what you want. But sometimes, when you’re honest enough to name it, you do get what you need.
Invitation
What do your upsets reveal about what you want? Could you get curious, instead of collapsing into the ache, and see the want hiding underneath?
Next Step
Most people blame others when they’re upset. I take responsibility and know what is mine. That’s what makes me powerful as a coach. I practice this myself — staying with discomfort, naming what’s true, and repairing connection. This is what keeps relationships, whether with our families or our teams, alive and healthy.
Sometimes it helps to have another person listen with you as you untangle what’s yours to heal and what’s yours to ask for. If you’d like support, you can schedule a conversation with me here: Book a Purpose Call.
