Today was a hard one. I’m still in it a bit, which is unusual for me. I typically write from a place of having healed, of having processed the messy parts and uncovered the magic. But today, I’m reporting live from the mess. Let’s see where this goes.

Yesterday, we had a meltdown with our kid—the kind that’s almost textbook for families. It was about homework, responsibilities, and how we treat each other in this house. A typical breakdown, followed by what felt like a breakthrough. And then, life kept life-ing. Our kid went off to a playdate, which turned into an overnight, and they returned home seemingly with amnesia for the connection we’d rebuilt the day before.

When I walked into their room to say hi and give them a hug—excited to see them after being apart—I was met with irritation, annoyance, and a scorned face. I felt the sting of rejection, a wave of sadness washing over me. My body held the weight of it, and, new to me, was this feeling: I felt like an asshole. I had set boundaries the day before, and here I was, wondering if I had harmed my child in some way by doing so.

The Boundary Battle

This is the script that played in my head: “No, you don’t talk to me like that—it hurts my feelings.” Or, “No, the iPad is not more important than I am.” I’d said these things, setting boundaries that I believed in, only to find myself questioning them the moment they weren’t honored.

How interesting, I thought, that I made myself wrong in this situation. My kid didn’t honor the boundary, and instead of standing firm, I spiraled into self-doubt, wondering if I’d inflicted pain or been too harsh. Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend talk about this so clearly in Boundaries: Setting a boundary is not about controlling someone else’s reaction; it’s about defining what you will and won’t accept. Boundaries are acts of love—for yourself and for the relationship. Yet here I was, questioning if my love had hurt more than it helped.

Taking a Break

As the irritation between us grew, I listened as my kid tried to turn the situation back on me: “You were talking when I was busy,” or “You’re making this a big deal.” I tried, unsuccessfully, to repair the moment in real time. Finally, I said, “We will both take a break. Set your timer for 10 minutes, and after that, I’d like you to come repair with me.” I walked away, iPad in hand.

A few minutes later, I found them fast asleep—clearly exhausted from their playdate. And still, the sting lingered in me: I caused this. I shouldn’t have gone up there. I should have just let it go. I should have let them have their iPad anyway.

These are the thoughts that sabotage me. These are the ways I’ve let others treat me in ways that don’t work for me. These are the moments where I’ve let self-doubt take over instead of standing firmly in my own truth.

The Magic in the Mess

Yes, this is messy. And yes, seeing my kid’s tears tears my heart wide open. But here is the magic in this mess: I’m showing my kid that I love them. That it matters to me that we greet each other, that we’re kind to one another, that we acknowledge each other as people who matter. I care enough to make this a big deal.

And I’m also saying this to myself: I matter in this house. It hurts me when you don’t say hi, when you don’t acknowledge me. My feelings count, too.

Oh, the hard conversations. They’re never fun, but they’re always the place where trust, connection, and belonging are built. This one is for all the parents out there, including my own. It’s hard as hell. And it’s the greatest gift ever. It’s both magic and mess.

Here’s to sitting in the mess and finding the magic within it.