This morning started out lovely enough. David had a few hiccups but we resolved them with kindness and patience. And then the rest of the morning was nice as we ate breakfast together, read our book (we’re reading The Borrowers) and then they played together as I journaled a bit.

But then things got ugly.

As it got time to leave, I asked David to get ready and he started getting snappy. He talked back to me in a tone that’s unacceptable, to me. Even worse, it’s the kind of tone that transforms me from kind, gentle mommy to mean, hurtful mommy. I literally lose my mind.

So as we got ready for the car, I was very upset. The first thing I told him was a list of privileges he would lose for his attitude and then I just kept going and going the whole way to school. Out came the laundry list of things. I couldn’t stop the verbal diarrhea. I said things I am not proud of and things I am not sure he understood. I felt a strong need for him to “get it.” I wanted him to understand that the tone of voice was disrespectful and I wanted him to understand that we make right choices because they’re the “right” choices not because we don’t want to get caught.

I told him he needed to do be able to do what’s right because it’s the moral thing to do.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t getting it. I could tell he felt sorry but I just really needed him to understand so we wouldn’t have to have this conversation again.

He was crying, I was crying. It wasn’t pretty. As I dropped him off, I felt terrible that we were parting this way. I told him not to worry and that we’d work it out and that I loved him.

But the minute he was gone, I felt overcome with shame and worry.

I wanted to run right back in and tell him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for breaking his little heart. At that moment, nothing mattered except healing the hurt.

I felt so so bad all day that I journaled and then watched all of Brene Brown’s talks. (If you haven’t seen them, I cannot recommend them enough: they are truly life-altering.) And the one-line that kept sticking out to me was this:

The way blame is defined in research is a way to discharge pain and discomfort.

And, if I were being honest with myself, that’s exactly what I was trying to do: release the pain his tone gave me.

But that’s not fair.

Of course, it’s not fair. He’s seven. He didn’t need or deserve my unloading on him. He’s likely not cognitively developed enough to truly internalize half the things I was telling him and expecting of him. He’s just a kid. Not to diminish his abilities, I know he can understand that he needs to be more respectful. But he got that three minutes into our conversation. We didn’t need the other 14 minutes. I didn’t need to yell or get more upset. I didn’t need to unload on him.

Anyhow, so I bathed in shame and guilt and remorse most of the day. And it sucked.

The minute David came home from school, I sat down with him, looked him in the eye, and apologized. The first thing he said was that it was his fault. I explained that while I don’t like that he speaks to me badly and, yes, he needs to work on that, the way the morning went was my fault. I didn’t need to communicate the way in which I did and that while what he did was wrong, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him. He’s magical and extraordinary and I will love and forgive and cherish him no matter what. I apologized and asked him to please forgive me.

And he did, of course. Because he’s kind and sweet and has a generous spirit.

His forgiveness gave me the space to forgive myself but not before I made a note to remember how it felt to live with the remorse all day. I told him that I would work hard to bring my best-self into our interactions all the time. And that I hoped he’d do the same. That I would try harder. I would try better. And then I thanked him for talking to me and for forgiving me.

And I wanted to write all this down so I could remember. I said yesterday that I believe the key to happiness (and life in general) is awareness. Writing it down helps me be more aware. Seals this moment in my brain and memory. And I am hoping this will help me remember it next time (before I start seeing black) and allow me to breathe, step back, and remind myself that this is not the person I want to be and the way in which I want to communicate.

I want to remember this remorse so I don’t have to feel it again.

Not so I can shame myself, but just so I can raise my awareness sooner next time.

Or so I hope.