My Teen Daughter Locked Herself in the Bathroom Every Afternoon – When I Finally Learned Why, I Burst Into Tears
Anna feared the worst when she saw her 15-year-old daughter sneaking into the bathroom every afternoon, locking the door, and coming out with red eyes.
However, the revelation of the truth broke her heart in unexpected ways. Behind that locked door, what was Lily hiding?
When Lily was only four months old, I became a single mother. One morning, my spouse left nothing but a letter that said, “I can’t do this,” on the kitchen counter. I apologize.
In actuality, he was incapable of managing the responsibilities that came with being a father.
He couldn’t handle the restless nights, the unceasing sobbing, and the burden of another life relying on him.
I was left alone with a small baby and a pile of bills that I didn’t know how to pay when he simply packed his things and left our lives.
The most difficult years of my life were those early ones. In order to keep the lights on and the formula in the pantry, I occasionally put in 16-hour days working double hours at the diner.
In those years, my mother was my savior. While I was at work, she took care of Lily, feeding her when I couldn’t be there and soothing her to sleep when she cried. My feet would hurt and my uniform would smell like coffee and grease when I got home, but as soon as I saw Lily’s tiny face, everything else vanished.
To be honest, we had a hard time. On some nights, I sobbed myself to sleep, questioning whether I was being a good enough mother and if I was doing enough. On some days, Lily outgrew her old shoes, so I had to decide between getting her new ones and paying the electricity bill.
We have made great progress with perseverance and fortitude. We made it through, and in time, we even began to flourish.
Lily, who is now fifteen, is everything to me. She is the reason for everything I do, every shift I work, and every sacrifice I make. Serving coffee and eggs to weary truckers and families on road trips, I continue to put in long hours at the diner, but it’s worthwhile because I’m securing my daughter’s future.
I want her to have access to opportunities that I did not. I want her to travel, go to college, and pursue her dreams.
However, something has changed lately. I was more afraid of Lily’s withdrawal than I wanted to acknowledge.
About two months ago, it began. She used to be active and talkative when she got home from school, telling me about her classmates and classes. But all of a sudden, she stopped talking. Without a word, she would enter via the front door, leave her backpack in the corridor, and go directly to her room.
She would shrug and mutter, “It was fine,” when I asked her about her day.
Then the restroom incident began.
Lily would spend almost an hour in the restroom every single day after school. No matter how many times I knocked, she would lock the door and not answer. I used to stand outside and put my ear against the wood to hear the faint sound of activity within and flowing water.
“Lily, honey, are you okay in there?” Even though my heart was pounding, I would call out while attempting to speak calmly.
Quiet.
“Please respond to me, Lily. I’m afraid of you.”
More quiet, or occasionally simply a muted, “Mom, I’m all right. Simply leave me alone.
Her eyes were always puffy and red when she eventually came out, as if she had been crying for a long time. She would run by me and lock herself in her bedroom, her cheeks flushed and avoiding eye contact.
I made every effort to persuade her to speak with me.
In the hopes that she might open up over dinner, I prepared her favorite foods. As we used to do when she was younger, I proposed that we watch movies together. To spend more time with her, I even took a day off from work, which I don’t often do. However, nothing was effective.
She withdrew more the harder I pushed.
My thoughts, of course, wandered.
Was she injuring herself? Was she the target of bullying in school? Or was she pregnant, God forbid? What if she was hiding in the restroom every day to take tests or cope with morning sickness because of this?
The stress in our home consequently became intolerable. It felt like you had to tread carefully every day in case anything horrible happened. I was lying awake at night, wondering what was wrong with my daughter and why she refused to let me help her, and I hardly slept anymore.
I eventually found out what was happening one day.
The Thursday afternoon was typical.
My manager informed me that I may leave early if I so desired because the diner had been unusually slow. I didn’t require two reminders. Thinking that perhaps I could surprise Lily and spend some time with her, I picked up my purse, clocked out, and went home.
However, the house was oddly quiet when I entered via the front entrance. Usually, I could hear Lily moving around upstairs or hear music coming from her room. However, there was only silence today.
“Lily?” I placed my keys on the entryway table and yelled. “Honey, I’m home early!”
No answer.
I assumed she was in her room, perhaps napping or using her headphones to complete her homework. Expecting to find her cuddled up on her bed with a book or her phone, I ascended the stairs and pushed open her bedroom door. The sheets were still made from this morning, but the bed was vacant.
At that moment, I heard a faint, muffled sound emanating from the restroom. I froze after taking a few steps toward the locked door.
Behind the barred door, I could hear her crying.
Panic then jolted through me like electricity, and I knocked on the door with trembling hands.
“Lily! “Lily, please open this door immediately.” I spoke in a loud, frantic voice.
The sobbing instantly ended, and quiet took its place.
“Mom?” Her voice was small, tremulous, and unexpected.
“Yes, I am. Sweetheart, open the door. Please. I made an effort to sound more composed, but my heart was pounding hard against my chest.
“I am unable to. Please just leave.”
“I won’t be leaving, Lily. This door needs to be opened by you or by me.
Something inside of me snapped when she didn’t answer. It was more than I could handle. My kid was suffering alone, and I couldn’t stand outside one more time, afraid and useless. The rusty lock gave way easily when I heaved my shoulder against the door, and it swung open with a loud bang.
When I saw it, I froze. I was unable to understand it.
Sitting on the chilly tile floor, Lily was surrounded by vintage beauty bags that I had seen years before. She had hair ties, bobby pins, and hairbrushes strewn all over the place as if she had been studying them. In front of her was a small handheld mirror with an image affixed to its frame that caused my eyes to enlarge.
It was an image of me when I was fifteen. My hair was styled flawlessly, my makeup was beautiful, and I was grinning at the camera. I recalled that picture. In my sophomore year, it had been taken for the school yearbook.
“Lily, what is all this?” I knelt next to her and whispered.
At that point, she lost it all.
Her shoulders were shaking from sobs that seemed to emanate from deep within her, and tears were streaming down her face as she buried her head in her hands.
“Mom, I apologize. “I apologize so much,” she sobbed.
“What am I sorry about, sweetie? Speak to me. Just talk to me, please.
She inhaled tremblingly and gazed up at me with eyes so filled with agony that it was physically painful to watch.
She started, “The girls at school, they make fun of me every single day,” using a shaky voice. Because my hair is frizzy and won’t stay straight like theirs, they make fun of it. When I pass them in the hallway, they whisper about my acne and point at it. The worst are Madison and Brooke. They make fun of my appearance and call me derogatory things since they know I don’t own the high-end brands they do.
I balled my hands into fists. I wanted to confront each and every one of those girls by marching into that school.
“But the worst part,” Lily went on, using the back of her hand to wipe her nose, “was last week.” Madison somehow discovered a picture from your old yearbook online. She passed her phone around the cafeteria, showing it to everyone. “I was nothing like what you used to be,” she said. “I’m the cheap version of my own mother,” she said.
Those remarks really got to me. My heart felt as though someone had reached into my chest and squeezed it till it was unable to beat normally.
“So, I’ve been coming in here every day,” Lily remarked, pointing to the brushes and cosmetics all around her. “Like you, I’ve been attempting to master makeup application. attempting to style my hair and improve my appearance. I practice endlessly and watch lessons on my phone, but I still can’t do it perfect. I’m unable to make myself appear good enough.”
However, she then uttered something that broke me to pieces.
“I don’t want to disappoint you, Mom.” Her cheeks were wet with new tears. “When I’m recognized as your daughter, I don’t want you to feel embarrassed. I don’t want you to think that I’m not as attractive as you are. Everyone talks about how gorgeous you were in high school, and then they treat me like a mistake.”
I could feel my own tears welling up. I was no longer able to control them.
“Oh, Lily. No, baby. I made her look at me by reaching out and softly holding her face in my palms. “Pay close attention to what I’m saying. Who’s the girl in that photo? She was miserable. The grins on those yearbook pictures weren’t real.
I believed that appearance was the most important thing, therefore I spent hours every morning attempting to look flawless. People would like me and I would feel good enough if I could just be attractive enough, I reasoned.
Lily silently stared at me.
“But, Lily, I felt really insecure. Every every day I was afraid that someone would see right through the hair and makeup and realize that I was just as nervous and afraid as everyone else. Sweetheart, beauty was never important. I was never happy about it. Do you know what brings me joy? You. Just like you are at the moment.”
Whispering, “But I’m not pretty like you,” she said.
“You’re much more than just attractive. You’re intelligent, creative, humorous, and kind. Of all the people I know, you have the biggest heart. And I didn’t realize you were fighting this battle alone because I was too preoccupied with my job and financial concerns. I didn’t express to you how amazing you are every single day.”
We both sobbed as I gathered her into my arms and held her close. For what seemed like hours, we just held each other and let everything out while sitting on the bathroom floor.
After a while, the tears stopped and we began conversing.
I shared with her my own high school insecurities, including the moments I felt afraid and unworthy. She gave me more details about Brooke and Madison, the daily remarks, and how she felt invisible because of them.
“From now on, things are going to be different,” I assured her. “Every week, I will return home early, and we will spend lovely hours together. We should do it together if you want to learn about hair and makeup, not because you have to change who you are. for enjoyment. Not because it’s expected of you by anyone else.”
Her tear-streaked face broke into a little smile. “Really?”
“Really. I also need you to make me a pledge, Lily. If those gals say anything harsh to you again, you come immediately to me. We’ll chat to the school counselor and your teachers. You don’t have to confront this alone anymore.”
She rested her head on my shoulder and nodded.
Changes came gradually but steadily in the ensuing weeks. As promised, I began arriving home early on Wednesdays. Together, we would try various makeup looks while sitting in front of the bathroom mirror, giggling when we didn’t do it right.
We didn’t always wear makeup at all. We simply ate ice cream straight out of the carton, chatted, and braided each other’s hair.
When Lily left for school, I saw that she began to hold her head a little higher. When she returned home, she stopped running to her room and started talking to me about her classes, friends, and dreams once more.
A few months later, Lily said something that filled me with pride as I was preparing dinner.
“I no longer lock the bathroom door, Mom. To feel beautiful, I don’t have to hide in there. I only needed to know that you accept me for who I am.
I put down the spatula I was carrying and gave her a deep hug while crying once more.
This time, however, the tears were not ones of grief or terror but rather of relief, excitement, and unwavering love for this courageous, lovely girl who was at last coming to understand how I had always viewed her.
She was perfect, just the way she was supposed to be.
