Stop Interrupting
So, I come into her room, tentatively, because repair is still hard for me. Foreign and a little bit uncomfortable, making myself so humble.
“Hey, I know you’re still mad at me; I see it in your face, huh?”
“Ahhh, yeah,” Tate tilts the corner of her mouth and raises her eyebrows as if to ask: Are you really even asking me that because obviously, I am.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you. I was judgy and sassy with you earlier.”
“Kind of?!”
Exhale. “Okay, fair, I was downright snarky and sassy and I’m sorry.”
Silence. It’s settling in. I let it. Watching closely. Wanting it to be over and to be forgiven and to move on. Oh right, can’t rush this. Must forgive myself. More work to do on that later. Sigh.
“I want to hear what was going on for you earlier when you didn’t want to go to bed.”
She starts explaining her evening, how she walked in from soccer and I immediately started telling her what to do …
“But, you asked me to remind you of your chores early in the night so they weren’t left for …”
“Mom, it’s my turn to talk. Please don’t interrupt!” Tate firmly holds her ground.
“Right, Sorry.”
She continues explaining her need for spaciousness between activities and more to-dos and how homework and everything else makes her nights feel so rushed …
“But, that’s exactly why I was trying to help. We agreed that …”
Tate shuts her mouth and glares, shaking her head no. “You have to stop, Mom. It’s my turn to talk.”
I nod and hold my lips closed, half kiddingly, but half because it’s that hard for me to not defend myself and explain how we got to my snark and my side of the story.
After a few more interruptions, and much frustration on Tate’s end, I finally acquiesce and really listen. I hear her need for more downtime. I hear her struggle to balance so much new. I hear her desire to do the right thing and use her voice and be good.
“I hear you, Tate. I do.”
I reflect back what I heard after I shut up. After I let go of my own self-consciousness, defensiveness and agenda.
She’s relieved, though still annoyed at how many times she had to remind me to not interrupt.
It’s imperfect and messy and I’m down on myself. All mine to accept as I head to my own room to lie down to sleep with my hand on my heart.
