You have to start again; from scratch, building it again, one piece at a time!
|Photo by Michał Parzuchowski on Unsplash|
It was Sunday morning, and exhaustion had got the better of me. I still pulled myself out of bed and went for a meeting the football team’s management had called for.
Somewhere in the middle of a conversation between my boy and the manager, and some conversation about veggies and screen time, my son flipped.
He blew up most unexpectedly, and I was caught unawares.
He punched me hard on my arm. That has happened one odd time before.
But as he was being pulled away, his rage was unsatiated and he kicked me hard in my stomach. With his football studs. I was stunned. This had never happened before.
And it was just like in the movies, only it was happening to me, by my son, in public, amongst so many.
It felt like he had shushed the crowd in a second.
But my head, it was loud and screaming.
I tried to calm him down but by then my emotions had reeled out of control.
I was thrown into time, when I battled a man with rage. A man who would throw a punch without a care.
It was a hard morning for me.
A part of me wondering if we had gone back in time? Questioning everything we had built all these years. Was it all pointless the years of fighting and running? Was he going to be the man I walked away from?
Or was it me? Was this all my doing? My anger, my frustration, my yelling, my spanking that has caused for my son to unravel? How did I imagine I could teach him patience while I was so angry myself?
Or was this just a boy overwhelmed by rage, acting out what he had seen, in movies and in life — heroes cheered for throwing a punch, kicking the bad guys out? A simple stunt that had looked super cool?
If this was the beginning? How do I ensure it would be end?
Is this the defining moment where my choices as a parent today will make all the difference ten years from now? The moment where I had the chance to raise a man but instead raised a hulk easily overcome by fury? Where I could have taught him to be calm but instead I fail and direct him to violence?
The voice of calm, my husband tells me don’t mull. Let it go.
It was just a moment, overwhelmed with emotion.
He will figure the right from the wrong.
He always has, with time.
But it was not easy for me to calm the voices. More than the voices or the physical pain, I realised it was the embarrassment, the eyes that glared through as my son reeled in anger.
The sense of failure. The sense of loss of meaning. If I could curl up in bed, and never come out of the covers I would.
(Yes, I am always so dramatic)
It was a long hard day…
A special thanks to Laura Markham whose blog helped me through this tough day.
My son who normally refuses to apologise till warned, made sure he came to me every opportunity to say how sorry he was. He is grounded for as long as his dad seems fit.
And I stepped out of the house, despite telling myself I never wanted to be seen in the same clothes again.
I am letting today go, because my heart asks me to.
How do I make sure the lesson has been learnt?
I don’t have the answers for now.
But I began again this evening — building one block at a time.
Carefully I start over again, because that’s what I do best.
One day at a time. One piece at a time.