i am blessed with people in my life who encourage me. i'm thankful for friends who know when to reach out and say things that will lift my spirits and build me up.
i had a sweet friend send me a note this morning thanking me for helping to teach her to talk to her children more, and get to the bottom of their hurt.
i am humbled.
the reality is.. i do talk with my kids- a lot. i have many friends who come from broken homes, and the common thread seems to be that there was no real discussion of emotions, or changes, or why things were happening the way they were. i can't imagine being a child whose life is turned upside down and not know something about why everything was shattering. i decided very quickly that i would make space for my children's questions and hurts, and i would do my best to answer them at their appropriate age levels and ability to understand. it has not been easy. there are a lot of things i'd love to tell them when they are angry with me for 'sending their dad away'. so many things i want to yell at them to justify why i've made the choice i did, knowing that when you know the details.... no one would condemn me... but also knowing that ultimately, i want to preserve the relationship they have with their father, and railing against him- even in my own defense- would only serve to layer on more hurt, confusion and anger over hearts that are already raw and wounded. i am living in a place of waiting- praying and hoping that when they are older they will see some of the reasons i've made the choices i've made. that maybe they might even thank me for doing what i'm doing. but today? right now? they are angry and i am an easy target.
i'd like to tell you that i always just talk to them. but that is so far from the truth that i can't even pretend that it's real. i yell far more often than i wish i did. my own fear and anger and pain leaks into our interactions, and while i wish i responded with grace and love, i often respond with pain and shouts. sometimes i feel that our family is one codependent pod of pain that moves around the house bumping into one another, and ripping new wounds in each other as we all try to find our place in the new landscape that has become our normal. many days i feel like a failure. when the rise of emotion and anger begins to bubble up in my children and seep out onto one another, and that leads to hitting, and yelling and name calling- i sometimes shout above the noise... knowing as i do that it is out of fear and hurt. i hate to see them ache. i hate to see them try to make sense of this in their limited understanding, and hate to see them lash out at each other and even me as they try to let off some of the pressure of the hurt. some days i can see the good that i'm doing... and i'm glad i am able to talk to my kids, and that they often talk back.. but other days... i feel overwhelmed with the reality that my own anger and pain often adds to the mess rather than being the one to absorb it and make sacred space for their hearts to rest.
i don't really do new year's resolutions. i do a good enough job of whipping myself emotionally over perceived failures, and am in no hurry to add more potential failings to the mix. but this year... if i were to choose anything.. it would be to respond in a more quiet manner. to remember in my own anger and pride that the response i see in my children is usually birthed in pain that manifests in anger. i want them to remember me as a soft place to fall... not as a yelling, angry, hurting woman who scared them and added to the chaos. i want to be a place of peace and grace... leading my family into new frontiers as we figure out the journey with new roles. any progress is good progress and i will celebrate small victories. the encouraging note from my friend was beautiful and kind, but also serves as a challenge to me- to continue to do the hard, exhausting work of talking and listening, and to remember that the yelling and hitting from them is a symptom of deeper pain. i will address the pain and not the symptoms. here's to a more peaceful 2014!
2 comments:
My dad left when I was 10. I never really liked him as a dad and felt a stranger to him. He was a super great dad but what I've come to realize over the years is, he was a dad, regardless of how much he failed at it. And I as a young boy needed a dad and from the age of 10 on, grew up without one. I know my mom did her absolute best to raise two boys while working. She bent over backwards for my brother and I. One time in my teens, I was probably about 15 or 16 my brother said some smart comment to me and I took it to him physically. I wont go into detail but its the last time I ever hit my brother, ever. I realize now all of that anger was from my dad leaving and if there was room for me to speak the pain in my heart maybe things would have been different. I applaud you for stepping into the mess that is trying to tell little broken hearts the truth about the pain they are feeling while trying to recover from your own pain. Here's to hoping that every little talk and every lil step will result in them being able to mature better and love deeper. Thanks for sharing.
thank you for this encouragement. in some ways.. now that the shock of what happened has diminished... the hard part is moving through it with my kids. i still trust that God has a plan for each of them... and i long to see them walk in it. thank you for dropping by to lift me up.
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