“Are you sorry for snapping at me?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. Shame washed over me as I replayed the outburst in my head. How was it possible that one three-year-old could make my blood boil so easily? I looked at my son, staring at me with his impossibly blue eyes. Waiting for an answer.
Inner-Mary readied her list of reasons why her harsh reaction was justified: You’ve been pushing me all day. You’ve screamed and cried and made unreasonable demands. You’ve disobeyed me, ignored me, and taken me for granted. Can you really blame me for lashing out??
My son is quite the expert at shaking me up. How easy it is for me to point my finger at him when anger, selfishness, impatience, and laziness come spilling out of me. But he’s never made me react in the wrong way. The reality is this: Every reaction that spills out of me reveals what was already there.
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