There is only one person in my life who I truly love. I do a terrible job showing this.
This morning was a fine example. I got mad when he didn't do one little thing right. It doesn't matter that I told him exactly how to do it, that it was something he'd done many times before and really very easy to do.
He did it wrong. I got upset.
There's no reason for that. It's not an excuse to say I was raised like that: tirades and tantrums when things didn't go exactly a certain way. It only means that I should be doing better. I must do better. I know how it feels to be the small person when the big person doesn't think you do anything right. I know how it feels to listen to somebody tell you what you did wrong and think that they're missing some finer points and please - please! - stop making you feel so awful. I remember feeling like I could never get it right and telling myself that I would never do this to my own child, not if I loved him or her the way my parents said they loved me.
My parents did love me, too. I understand that and I don't look back with any trauma or malice, but I remember how I felt like I was doomed to fail, too.
I want better for my child.
I'll be more quiet from now on. I'll think more. I'll consider the words that are about to fly out of my mouth and the emotions that should be kept in check.
He'll know that he is loved beyond measure. I'll show him.
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