In 2009, I penned a line in As the Crow Flies that said, “from where I stand, my home is like a Middle Daughter; she’s just a dot on a map of a world.”
In the moment, I was proud of the imagery that the line provoked—but did I really know what I was saying?
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It wasn’t until years later that it hit me: Every woman in my life whom I’ve called a Love—every woman I’ve been in a serious relationship with—has been a Middle Daughter. Each of the four, including my wife. Each one.
I found this interesting. Something about Middle Daughters must attract me; something about them must draw me in and hold me close.
But what?
I didn’t know the answer off the top of my head, so I went searching. I set out to write a song called Middle Daughter that would be a tribute, dissecting what makes them who they are. Identifying that thing that makes them so beautiful.
So, with three women from my past as my context and my wife as my ultimate muse, I started digging. It was harder than I could have ever imagined. But a thread did emerge: Their unassuming strength.
I’ll let the lyrics tell the rest of the story.
Cheers to Middle Daughters, everywhere.
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MIDDLE DAUGHTER LYRICS
By Tyler Stenson © 2017
A middle daughter’s light is only softly beaming,
Like the light between the floor and the door.
There’s so much kept inside,
But it’s the peace she’s keeping,
For keeping peace takes more
Than starting the war.
Yes, she could speak her mind
And put her fists upon the table,
Still, she chooses silence as her sound
And finds her place in line—
Always the piece that’s stable—
A middle daughter stands her middle ground.
I can tell from here
She is more than she appears,
But I don’t think her eyes see the same.
Cause all she sees in the mirror
Is what she’s come to be through the years:
Just a middle daughter with no name.
There’s a confidence inside,
But it comes and goes like springtime:
Growing wild,
‘Til the harvest strips it down—
But she always comes back around.
I can tell from here
She is more than she appears,
But I don’t think her eyes see the same.
Cause all she sees in the mirror
Is what she’s come to be through the years:
Just a middle daughter with no name.
And that don’t sit too well—
In fact, I’m mad as hell—
For all I see is all the pain
Of every single tear
That’s welled up and fell down
Through the years
From this middle daughter wanting her name.
So, I won’t rest until
Her eyes light up in the mirror
As she says aloud her most unique name.
A middle daughter’s light is only softly beaming,
But I stand in awe of the glow.