this just one … is hard.

i believe myself to be incredibly compassionate and mostly kind … except (gulp!) when it comes to the people i love most — my sweet little, tight-knit family unit. intensely ashamed to admit it, but it’s true. and it makes no sense, i know. i mean, if these are the people i love and cherish and trust more than anyone on the planet, then shouldn’t the opposite come more naturally. shouldn’t i want to shower them always, save for a few bad moments, with compassion and kindness? shouldn’t i? why don’t i?

my greatest fear is that the pissy, cranky, less-than-charming woman i sometimes become around here is the real me. the authentic me. and that’s why she rears her ugly head so often in the place i feel safest and most loved. god no! and i know it’s not true. that it’s something more complicated. that the makings of family relationships do the damnedest things to us, often bringing out the best and worst. this is one of those horrifying and ingrained behavior changes i feel like i’ll be working on for a lifetime.

of course, the urge to make this change has amped up considerably now that one of my kids has a similar, shall we call it, emotional defense mechanism. so often, he will react unkindly, inconsiderately, and downright mean rather than let his guard down and be vulnerable and free with us. as far as i can tell, this isn’t a problem outside the house, but here it’s a problem. just like it is for me.

i just keep thinking — maybe if i walked the walk of kindness more often, then it would help us both, you know? i’m so sick about it that i’m actually considering hanging sticky notes all over the house that just say “be kind.” like in every room. reminders! is that insane? i’m not sure if it’s more insane that i need reminders to be kind in my own house or that i think sticky notes may solve my problem. shit.