On a family trip to London, Katie Trexler noticed something small that she couldn’t quite shake: Her husband appeared in photo after photo with their children, while she was almost always behind the camera. In her memoir, What Do I Tell My Daughter?, Trexler looks back on the choices she made as a mother, wife, and TV journalist — including stepping back from a career she loved — and asks what she’d want her daughter to know about making room for her own needs. In this excerpt, an uneasy feeling on vacation brings a larger truth about her marriage into focus.
We took a family trip to London; I was so excited to be on vacation, to have nothing fixed on my schedule. All I wanted was a special getaway for the family and, hopefully, time to reconnect with my husband David. Frankly, I would have been happy to have this break anywhere, but London was one of my favorite cities. David and I had been here once before, pre-kids. I felt a draw to the cosmopolitan city, with its rich history, and of course that melodic British accent. I was enamored by the culture.
I snapped a picture of David and the kids at the airport before we took off on the red-eye from Denver — David’s arms stretched wide across their shoulders, the three of them flashing huge smiles.
We slept on the plane and hit the ground running when we landed at Heathrow the following morning. David and I had coached the kids that the best way to beat jet lag was to power through the day without napping and then crash at a normal bedtime. We had many hours to fill; we started by going exploring along the Thames.
We found a quaint restaurant with an outside patio next to the river and sat down for a meal. Hanging out with two sleep-deprived tweens wasn’t easy, but I tried to add some levity by presenting the challenge of who could hold the spoon on their nose the longest. Hayden was the true master at this, but my daughter Kylie could also pull it off.
After eating we took a ride on the London Eye, a massive Ferris wheel of sorts that transported us more than four hundred feet into the sky so we could take in the most iconic sights of the city below — the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and St. Paul’s Cathedral, among others. At one point, David pulled the kids close and put his arms around them as they all looked out the window at the magnificent sights. It was a perfect photo op, and I seized the moment.
Just like at the airport, it was just the three of them in the shot. As I took the picture, I was overtaken by a feeling of separateness. I realized I felt left out — but, as was my habit, I justified it by consoling myself that I always got to spend time with the kids. David deserved and needed this dad time.
The next morning, I woke before everyone else and went out for a run. I wound my way along the tree-lined paths of St. James’s Park, past the flowers and the duck pond, then on to Buckingham Palace. The Union Jack was flying, which meant that the queen was not currently residing there. As I stared at the palace gates and let the endorphins from my run soak in, I said out loud to myself, “This doesn’t suck” — a phrase one of my former colleagues used to say — and I made myself laugh. The beautiful sights and the exercise grounded me, reminding me I could be content in my solitude.
Later that day, after touring Westminster Abbey, we emerged in front of Big Ben and Parliament. Yet another quintessential photo op — and yet again, David grabbed the kids and pulled them in close to him for the picture. Hmm…OK… I noticed now that he hadn’t bothered to snap a single photo of me with the kids.
I wasn’t sure who’d established the unwritten rule that moms always took the photos but were rarely included. It was hard not to feel overshadowed. More than that, though, was the realization that all our images from this trip would be of David, the perfect-seeming dad, swooping in as he always did to be the fun one, showering the kids with love and affection. Shouldn’t I get to play that role too?
I was also bothered that I wasn’t feeling that same love and affection from him. Why was it reserved for the kids?
I refused to let these uncomfortable feelings ruin the trip. For the rest of the week, whenever I felt left out, I forced myself into the mix and made sure I came off as the happy, fun mom. I also asked plenty of strangers to take photos of the four of us together.
On the plane ride home, I pulled out my journal and wrote, What an incredible vacation. I’m grateful for this unforgettable experience with the kids. So why am I feeling so disconnected and off?
After a few moments of quiet, I contrived an answer: You’re still questioning who you are and if you’re on the right path. Stay committed and keep listening. You’ll get there.
The response didn’t feel completely honest or true. It was a facade, like the happy mom I’d pretended to be this past week. Who was I fooling? My discontent wasn’t just about me or my personal path. My marriage was struggling. After decades of being my life partner and best friend, David felt like a stranger.
I missed my husband and the love that had once existed between us — but instead of acknowledging that, I kept shifting the blame onto myself. Somehow, the emptiness I felt was my fault. I needed to work harder on me, let more light in, figure myself out. Me, I could control, but my husband’s feelings for me and mine toward him — those were out of my hands.
Looking back at this moment, here's what I would tell my daughter:
Kylie,
Women tend to blame themselves for issues that arise at home, at work, or in our relationships. We wonder how we could have done more, been better; we ponder what we need to change about ourselves. I don’t know where that is rooted. Perhaps in our desire to be so much for other people. There are times when we should claim responsibility for our mistakes and failings, but that’s different than expecting ourselves to be perfect in every situation in our lives. Perhaps we simply need to know that who we are is enough, even if others don’t seem to feel that way.
Katie Trexler, Emmy-winning TV journalist, turned PR pro, is the author of What Do I Tell My Daughter?, her debut memoir about losing her sense of self while balancing career and motherhood. Explores career, motherhood and identity. What Do I Tell My Daughter? is out now, distributed by Simon & Schuster.
