I live much of my life through the eyes of my Father’s daughter. She’s never steered me wrong because she thinks differently than I do. I appreciate her for that, but I think she gets too much credit sometimes.

I do a lot of things she wants me to do. I don’t always want to, but the understanding always comes later. I’m grateful and resentful. She’s a learner, and I’m a doer.

She’s more practical and levelheaded; I’m impulsive and extreme. She’s kinder to herself and others; I’m sharper and no-nonsense. She’s helpful and thoughtful; I don’t really want to be bothered. She’s polite, and I’m rude. She’s put together, and I’m just pulling it together. She’s driven, goal-oriented, and ambitious, and I’m tired.

She’s got a quiet confidence, but I’m obnoxiously arrogant. She holds back a lot; one of the things I can’t stand about her. She’s time and place, and I’m here and now.

We share a lot of things too. Reading, creating, and laughter. I’m funnier than she is, though. She’s comfort for me. She always knows the right thing to do. I get us in a bind, and she gets us out.

She’s the yin to my yang. The light to my dark. The good to my bad. The up to my down. She’s always got my back, something I always need. She’s loyal to a fault, and I take advantage.

We’re two sides of the same coin.

Sometimes I think she’s better than me. I lean on her too much. Truth be told, I’d be lost without her. I don’t know who I am without her. I don’t have a life outside of her. I don’t even know if I like me without her.

I wonder if she feels the same way? Of course, without me, who is she? Who am I?

I am my Father’s daughter.