Be Human

A few weeks ago, my oldest son got angry with me. His response was to say something to me that he was pretty sure would make me angry. Realistically, it didn’t make me angry. It made me sad. And frustrated that he would use that subject against me. I realized quickly that there was nothing safe for me to say in that moment. I had no words that I was completely sure I wouldn’t regret later. So I walked away. My husband went to have a talk with him. (That’s one of my favorite things about being married to my husband. Is that we help cover for each other when the other person isn’t in the right mental headspace to deal with something kindly.) I went to my room. Eventually my son came to talk to me in my room. But I was still not ready to let go of how I was feeling. He apologized, and I told him that I was grateful for his apology, but that I wasn’t ready to accept it yet. I further explained that I was still allowed to feel hurt and sad by what he said. He said okay and that he understood and walked away. A few minutes later he quietly snuck back into my room and placed a handwritten note on my nightstand with a cute little picture of himself and I, and his attempt writing “I love you” at the top.

I didn’t acknowledge him dropping off the note. I was grumpy. But it was sweet. When I felt ready to be apart of the world again, I left my room, and he asked me if I saw his note and if I knew what it said. I told him that I had indeed seen it and I reminded him that I loved him too even when I was grumpy. 

I guess I’m sharing this to say that it’s ok to feel your feelings. And it’s okay to show kids that we have feelings too. It’s okay to sit with them for a while. And it’s ok to move on from those feelings when we’re through instead of skipping past them. Regardless of all the ways I sometimes fail at the “mom-thing” I think at the end my kids will learn that it’s okay to set boundaries to take care of themselves even while taking care of others. And even adults need to admit they are human, and by default, imperfect. And that’s not a bad thing.