I really appreciate my little family. It’s not that any of us are perfect or faultless… but we all try so hard. I let my kids get a little glimpse behind the curtain last night. Middle Child has been expressing a lot of anger/frustration over me wanting to know his thoughts and feelings but I don’t share all of mine. Yesterday we had a long conversation about why the boundaries are where they are and why they will continue.

But we did talk about food. And I cried. More context:

We were talking about chores and Eldest Child was mentioning that she’d like food preparation to be something she does more of. She likes making meals–it’s fun for her. Noah talked to her about how she could volunteer herself at more stages of the food process and I said, “It’s ok for you to help all you want but this is not going to be an assigned chore for you for many years.” She asked why. Then I decided to tell them more background as a way of giving context to both of them and letting MC know more about me in ways he’s been asking to.

I talked about how I got into the position of eating only ramen. That was the only thing I could control. It was the only thing I could eat that I could predict how much pain my body would be in. I talked about the disruption of my early life. I pointed out that when I was their ages I’d already had a year or two that I basically missed with my mother. I told them about Sarah moving in with us and my completely and totally inappropriate flip out about dinner not being on the table on time.

We then provided more history on why “dinner not being on the table” is a domestic violence problem and tied to Sarah’s personal history… so yeah. Me kicking a cabinet door off the wall because I was upset about food not being prepared for me…. That was 100% an abusive act.

Then the kids wanted me to explain why it was an abusive act. How am I abusing the cabinet? Ahhhh… it’s not about the cabinet. It’s about letting people know that if they disappoint you that there will be a violent response.

The lightbulb went on. Ohhhhhhhhhh. Yeah. That’s not ok.

No. That’s not ok.

So no, baby, you are not allowed to have feeding me be one of your chores any year soon here if ever. I’m not rational. I’m not nice. I’m aggressive and scary and a problem. So… you don’t need to be in a position where I’m likely to turn that shit on you. Ever. Never ever ever ever in a million years.

I asked how often I have to remind her about her other chores. How would it go if I had to add pestering her for me to eat food? She understood. She will help her dad and not worry about it being a formally titled “job” at this point.

I let them hug me.

That was a big deal. I told sad stories and I let people touch me afterwards because they wanted to comfort me. I let them. Usually I will actively rebuff anyone who is silly enough to offer me comfort. I initially backed away and put my arms full length between us. I didn’t want it.

I realized that I was hurting myself and my kids if I did that. People want to comfort each other. Hearing about another person’s pain and not being allowed to offer comfort is distressing. My kids were hearing about pain their mother has experienced. Pushing them away and being nasty would have hurt them. Letting them hug me and say they are so sorry that happened… that’s part of the grief process. That’s part of the circle of being part of a family.

That’s not how our family should be operating all the time. And in general I’m still keeping my shit firmly behind the curtain.

But I let my kids hug me and feel sad for me yesterday. I can still count on one hand the number of times I’ve told sad stories from my childhood and let them comfort me. That feels important. This cannot be constant or regular. That can’t be the focus of our lives. But when it comes to setting boundaries and explaining limitations…. very rarely it can be useful.

I’m weird about food. I am. I have a lot of quirks and little fussy points. My kids see a lot of them but they don’t understand. That’s normal and appropriate. Now they understand a little bit more because that’s important. If they understand a little bit more of the framework… they won’t take it so personally when I’m being me doing my thing. “Oh, mom’s just doing her thing” instead of “People must be like that.”

EC was feeling kind of offended that I don’t think she’s “capable”. Oh honey. It’s not about your ability to prepare food. It’s that you are a kid. It’s that it is never appropriate for me to expect you to sustain my life. It’s that I get really hangry and it’s not ok to turn that on you when you are being a normal kid. It’s that food is loaded and emotional and intense and I’m better than I was but I’m not back to a normal person’s reactions to food. It’s hard.

She understood and decided that she didn’t want to be offended anymore. It’s not you baby, it’s me. I don’t want to get mad at you. I don’t want to rage at you. That’s not ok. I want to accept the gracious offerings of your kind volunteer meals without expectations. I want to know that it is a bonus gift you are giving to your family and we should all be so happy you love us enough to want to try.

I don’t want it to be just your job and you suck if you fail. I’m such an asshole about that dynamic. I’m great with volunteers! I’m demanding and I have too many expectations once it is “your job”.

I’ve been talking to the kids more about setting ourselves up for success or failure. We have to be honest about our temperaments and abilities.

I feel grateful every day that I get to be part of this family. The smiles are so sweet. The cuddling is so gentle and refreshing. I feel like even though we have waves and bumps and hard moments… I could not be in a better place.

It’s the quality of the smiles. Everyone in my house has this melty “I’m so safe and happy and I feel relaxed and life is good” smile. That smile releases something in my chest. I just want to be near more of that smile.