One of those mornings.
With a son, a son who is absolutely wonderful but very special. A son who always does his best but wears his emotions on his sleeve. A son I know doesn’t respond well to yelling, complaints, or negative criticism. Instead of taking it in and trying to do better, he shuts down and starts acting out.
hat my son works this way is no news to me; for 12 years, he’s been my pride while also being a major source of my worry. For 12 years, we’ve worked on how to support him so he can become the best version of himself. And it’s heading in the right direction—it feels more and more like a deeply thoughtful and well-raised young man is emerging. Some days go smoothly, some days go less well. That’s just how life works, after all.
But some days go to hell. Today was one of those days.
After a few weeks of pretty rough morning routines, even though we’ve tried everything to fix them, the cup spilled over today.
I know he doesn’t respond well to being yelled at, that he tunes me out when I give him negative feedback, that he shuts down when I get angry. I know his self-confidence is fragile, and when it takes a hit, he starts acting out.
Still, I lost it today. Still, I stood there yelling at him, complaining about his behavior, threatening him with what would happen if he didn’t do what I said, and finally taking away things he enjoys and looks forward to.
Instead of lifting him up, today I pushed him down. Instead of a great start to the morning, my son probably went to school with a knot in his stomach.
And now here I sit, a grown man at 38 years old and 100 kilograms, with tears in my throat. Deep down, I know he’ll get over it, and we’ll both do everything we can to handle it better next time. But damn, how I hate feeling this way.
I’m not looking for tips, advice, sympathy, or understanding. I’m writing more to acknowledge to the world and the universe that today, I messed up. But next time, it’ll be better.
