scribblechic

Yesterday the hurt and discomfort of a loved one’s behavior clung to thoughts like clothes a size too small against wet skin. No matter how my husband and I arranged our words or performed daily tasks the fabric of harm pulled tightly against our efforts restricting our movements and tugging at unpleasant emotions.

That is until our daughter clothed herself in blame, wearing the burden of responsibility for the quiet misery that had threaded itself through the days beginning with her birthday. Sweet, sensitive, and intuitive beyond her years our daughter assumed the debt of others’ joy innocently and with love. Rather than drain the evening of play, she endeavored to fill broken spirits holding her happiness in trade.

The harm that my husband and I have worked to hide from our children behind acts of hope and good intentions was misplaced upon our daughter’s shoulders. Rather than shield our children with silent reassurances that ring hollow, perhaps we must inform more mindful boundaries of worth and respect; recognizing the value of response over reaction and creating a dialogue of accountability in place of blame. Preserving the sanctity of our home as a safe haven for honesty and joy rather than bartering an illusion of loyalty at the cost of well-being.

Tagged: Musings