Listen, I never liked kids before having my own. I never cared about childhood development. I never knew babies were whole humans that deserved respect. I thought kids were just side characters, you know? That’s how they’re always portrayed on television and in movies. And maybe that’s how I was treated growing up. Just an afterthought. A child to be seen and not heard. When I cried, I was told that I was wrong to be sad. I was distracted by my mom - “don’t feel that way - feel this way instead because it makes me more comfortable”. I was made fun of for the reasons I was upset.
And you never fully get the true picture of your own childhood until you parent your own child (in whatever way that looks). I’ve learned Becky Bailey’s conscious discipline. I’m an eager student of Janet Lansbury. And what it comes down to is that I want my children raised in a home that doesn’t get scared of big feelings. A home where we learn how to express big feelings in a safe way. A home that has reasonable, consistent boundaries.
I’ve cried so many times because - what I’m saying to my child are things that I never heard as little baby me. “I’m sorry” “I love all of you” “I’m here for you” “you spilled your drink, that’s okay” “yell it out baby, I’ve got your back” Never in my wildest dreams did I think that having children would open up my old childhood wounds. Wounds I thought were badges. Wounds I wore as armor. Wounds that have been left unattended because I didn’t even know I was cut to begin with! I was raised to pull my big girl panties up and fuckin' deal with it. But fuck that!! I’m letting these panties sag, y’all…I’m letting ‘em slide all the way the fuck off. I’m going full-on commando. I’m letting the harshness I was raised in roll off of me as I hold an umbrella over my kids’ heads.
You’re safe with me, my babies. You’re safe, you’re safe, you’re safe