And the walls came tumbling down.
Not the walls of my home (thank God!) but the emotional walls that I use to hold everything in and keep it all together. Sometimes there is just way too much for those walls to hold. And usually it’s some stupid little thing that causes them to cave in.
So I made the dinner, and when Middle Sister told me that the pasta was done, I asked her to drain it and call everyone to the table. And then I headed upstairs where I proceeded to melt down.
After she ate, Middle Sister came upstairs to ask what was wrong and to listen to me vent a bit. She just listened. She’s a good kid.
I appreciate that she was there, that she gave me the gift of her presence when I was on the edge (or over it, really.) At the same time, though, I feel like it’s not her responsibility to have to help me put the emotional pieces back together.
I’d love to hear what you have to say: would you let your 16-year-old daughter see you fall apart?