Breaking Down the Wall

I was going to write a fairly personal and vulnerable post today about something specific that happened this week instead of the general newsy update I've leaned on for the last year, but after writing a paragraph I found I couldn't do it.

Delete. Delete. Delete.

When I started this blog 17 years ago, it was easier to candidly show all the messiness of my life. I thought when I shared experiences that were both honest and funny, it would hit a triple: update friends and extended family about what was going on with my kids, entertain complete strangers, and encourage other moms who were in the trenches.

But since my life revolved around my kids, and they weren't reading the blog (and no one was judging them for the stuff I posted), it was easier to be open. In fact, I'm very grateful I shared so much back in the day. So many memories were preserved, now that they've faded into the haze of too many years of sleep deprivation.

My life still revolves around my kids. (Well, and Terence, but that's not the subject of today's post.) But shockingly--after 17 years--they are no longer little. Three of them are legal adults, and two are teenagers. None of them are social media attention seekers. They don't want their lives on display for the public, and especially not for people who might judge them.

Hm. That kind of sounds like I want my life on display for strangers to judge me. I don't. In fact, the idea of people judging me causes rather severe anxiety. But every time I've thought about hanging up the closed sign on this blog or on Facebook, someone tells me how much my posts mean to them.

So. Here I am, constantly trying to find the balance of still writing public updates, still being honest and encouraging, yet not violating the privacy and trust of my kids.

In that spirit, let me share something that I've learned about myself recently. I get my feelings hurt a lot. I've been sensitive all my life, far more likely to end up in tears over a casual comment than not. (That part I already knew.) Also, one of my toxic little communication traits is to use the silent treatment when I'm upset. I don't know why it took me so very long to put two and two together, but often when I thought I was angry and then resorted to the silent treatment, what I actually was feeling was hurt. It was a way of building a nice, thick wall around myself for protection. I didn't want to get hurt more.

I've been working for awhile to stop doing that with Terence. He hates when I go silent. He'd much rather hash things out and resolve them. But I would back away, get more upset, and then my resentment would build. It was a nasty cycle, and when I actively work to remind myself that Terence does not want to hurt me, and I can trust him, then I can discuss whatever we were arguing about in a more helpful manner. It's been great, honestly. 

But I didn't realize I was doing this with the kids as well.

It finally hit me like a landslide this week. I was teaching my kids by example a truly terrible way to react to conflict. Just to protect myself from hurt. And I am the mom! I can't expect them to be the bigger person, or to figure this stuff out all on their own. I need to model what I'm learning.

It's a different stage, now that the kids are older. I don't have constant battles with them over rules and messes and homework (well, mostly). But there is still regular conflict to work through. There are seven people living in this house. We are going to run headfirst into disagreements all the time. But when I react in instinctive defensive mode, it doesn't help anyone. So I'm going to try pausing next time I'm tempted to shut down and remind myself that I can be brave and not build a wall. Talk through the stuff, even if it means telling my kids my feelings got hurt, and why. Listening to them, and letting them tell me what they really think.

I'll probably make a mess of it. But that's OK. I'll keep trying.

On that note, happy October! Don't stop trying!