Some days I swear modern parenting is just one giant emotional CrossFit class.
I’m out here trying to heal childhood wounds, rewire my nervous system, and become a calmer version of myself…
while my 20-month-old is in his “push everything and everyone” era and having full-body meltdowns because I dared to break his banana in half, or serve his food the wrong way.
This is the part no one prepared us for, healing backwards while parenting forwards.
Breaking cycles while trying not to lose your shit in the middle of the living room.
Teaching calm while your toddler walks around the house with a beer gut saying “no”
And still… god, the heart in it.
The way he looks at me after a storm like I’m still his safest place.
The way I’m learning patience, softness, and strength I didn’t even know I had.
The way we’re both rewiring together him toward stability, me away from survival.
It’s chaotic, emotional, messy, unfiltered, and honestly?
Kinda magical.
Because every day I choose to try again.
Every day we grow a little.
Every day I’m breaking cycles he’ll never have to heal from.
Fuck it’s hard work,
The hardest, loudest, most rewarding work I’ll ever do.