Hi Reader,
The other day, my son wasn't happy about a screen restriction. Obviously.
It resulted in him missing out on something that mattered to him. And understandably, that led to a sour mood.
Here's the thing: at his age, I would have been furious. Slamming doors. Screaming with rage. The whole production.
But he was just quietly bummed out.
And something in me just couldn't handle it.
A flurry of anxious, shame-based thoughts came flooding in:
Why is he this upset over a game? What am I doing wrong as a parent? Is he screen addicted? Have I failed? Does this mean he's going to be unemployed and living in his parents' basement for the rest of his life?
Y'all, this is codependence in action.
"If you're not okay, I'm not okay."
THIS IS WHAT DYSFUNCTIONAL PATTERNS LOOK LIKE IN PARENTING
So you know what I did next?
I took out my frustration on him. Restricted his phone use. Told him he needed to figure out how to enjoy life more off screens.
In so many words, "Get it together."
Gah... are you wincing as much as I am? 🫣
Face palm. Face palm. Face palm. 🤦♀️
It wasn't long after he went to his room before I realized I had been pulled back into my dysfunctional patterns and I needed to apologize.
Damnit... I did it again.
So I swallowed my pride and let him know I was sorry for how I reacted but that I still had concerns.
(Not a real apology.)
My son is smart. He knows his reality and he's not afraid to challenge me when I'm out of touch with it. And he did with composure and respect.
The next morning, I ate a piece of humble pie with a side of remorse, and apologized again. This time, for real.
"You must have felt so hurt, frustrated, and angry when I overreacted. It's okay for you to have a bad day. I have bad days all the time. You get to have them too without me jumping down your throat with my anxiety. And I know you have many things you enjoy outside of screen time. My fear and shame got activated and I took out my 'stuff' on you. And I'm sorry for that. I'm continuing to do my own healing work so that this happens less and less."
Because honestly, I can't promise that it will never happen again. I can only promise to keep doing my healing work and to keep repairing with compassion and empathy when I fail, again and again.
WHY THIS IS SO HARD
When you grow up in a home marked by dysfunction, abuse, neglect, or unpredictability, your nervous system learns that other people's moods are dangerous.
Someone else's bad mood meant things were about to get bad for you. So you learned to scan for it, fix it, manage it, avoid it.
That's not a personality flaw. That's a survival skill.
But when you bring that survival skill into parenting? It gets messy.
THE ENVIRONMENT YOU GROW UP IN SHAPES YOU
It teaches you how to be in relationship and what to expect (or not expect) from others.
Your child's bad mood triggers your old wiring. Your nervous system reads their sour mood as a threat. And before your prefrontal cortex can catch up, you're reacting from a place that has nothing to do with the present moment and everything to do with what you learned a long time ago.
This is intergenerational trauma in real time.
This is how patterns get passed on.
And it is so embarrassing to talk about.
But this is what it actually looks like to be an adult child of an alcoholic, parenting a teenager, and doing her damndest to try and break old patterns.
THE PART THAT MATTERS MOST
I wish I could just stop the old patterns altogether.
But it's not that easy.
So here's what I do instead:
Listen, Empathize and Repair.
Listen, empathize, and repair.
Over and over and over.
Repair is not weakness. Repair is not failure. Repair is actually the most powerful thing you can do as a parent.
Because here's what repair teaches your child:
That people who love you can get it wrong AND come back and make it right.
That a bad moment doesn't mean a broken relationship.
That accountability looks like owning your behavior without destroying yourself over it.
That love is not conditional on perfect behavior.
Those are lessons I never learned as a child. I'm still figuring them out.
And they are lessons worth fighting to pass on.
ONE THING TO TRY THIS WEEK
The next time someone you love is in a bad mood and you inadvertently take it personally, pause before you react.
Notice what's happening in your body. Is your chest tight? Are you holding your breath? Is there a familiar wave of anxiety or shame?
That's your old wiring trying to protect you from something that isn't actually happening anymore.
You don't have to fix their mood. You don't have to make it better. You don't have to take it personally.
You just have to notice that their bad day is theirs.
Not yours.
That's where the cycle starts to break.