A Clean Kitchen

Last week, I cleaned the kitchen. I cleaned it in anger. My rage powering each swipe of the sponge.

My daughter was mad at me. She had shouted at me blame after blame. Everything that makes her unhappy is my fault.

I couldn’t hear her. Ego was screaming and running up and down the aisle of my Brain Bus. My inner child, the one that was forced to wear dresses with itchy lace, feels threatened and rages at the accusations. Her screams trigger Ego to a higher pitch and he gets louder and louder.

My daughter was struggling.
My daughter was having a hard time.

My baby needed me.

But the bitch inside my head, the scared, lonely, inner child was driving my bus and I shouted back. I defended myself!

I couldn’t hear my daughter’s message. “I need you. My feelings are too big and I need you, mommy”. The message was clear, but I still missed it.

So I shouted back at her until she stormed off and then I angry-cleaned the kitchen. Because that’s what kids really need from their momma: a clean kitchen.