I know.

I know exactly how she feels right now.  Exactly.  I remember the thoughts that went through my head as I lay on my bed, sobbing into my pillow.

He is so mean.  He's trying to ruin my life.  He doesn't want me to have any friends.  That way, he doesn't have to worry about where I am or what I'm doing or who my friends are, he can be in complete control of everything I do, every second of the day.  He wants me to be miserable.  He likes when I get in trouble.  And why did I get in trouble?  What was I doing that was so wrong?  I'll bet (fill-in-the-blank-friend's-name)'s parents don't tell her she has an attitude all the time.  This is so stupid.  I hate my life!!


Hot tears.  Angry words.  The injustice.

Sigh.

If I had a dollar for every time that rant went through my head when my dad disciplined me for something I had done or took something important away from me as a result of my actions...gosh, I'd have a lot of dollars.  Not that those dollars would do me a lot of good right now.  While my baby girl lies on her bed.  Sobbing.  Occasionally punctuating those sobs with, "I hate my life!"

What I didn't realize as a kid was the depth of pain my dad felt when he actually had to follow through on the discipline he threatened.  That proverbial "this hurts me more than it hurts you" (to which I always responded under my breath, "yeah, right.").  Tonight, Reasa's attitude about helping clean her room (displayed by slamming her boots onto the floor as she took them off) resulted in the threat, "If I see one more display of your lousy attitude tonight, Reasa, I will call Taylor's mom and tell her she can't come over tonight."  The most unfortunate part of the situation is how desperately Reasa wants Taylor to be here tonight.  Actually, maybe the most unfortunate part is how miserable Reasa's attitude toward me and Seth has been lately.  I really thought her desperate desire to have Taylor here would outweigh her miserable attitude toward (well, especially) me lately (since Seth wasn't home yet).  

I was wrong.

So, 40 minutes later, as I cleaned the kitchen (because that's what I do when I get worked up: I clean), thinking about what I needed to say with her as follow-through to my text to Taylor's mom, can I think of anything brilliant to say to her?  Nope.  Because all I want to do is wrap her up in my arms and cry right along with her.  I despise having to follow through on threats.  It would be so much easier to say, "It's ok, honey. I changed my mind. Just don't let it happen again."  I know in my head that doing what I said I would do will make her think the next time she considers sassing me, or pushing it just a little bit farther, or slamming the milk down on the table just a little harder than it needs to be slammed...but oh, my heart in the meantime.  And hers as well.  The thought of her laying there, thinking of me as mean, or unjust, or controlling absolutely breaks my heart.  But not more than the thought of her seeing me as inconsistent or irrelevant or anything less than an example of the mother she someday hopes to be.  She can't see any of those things right now.  But I hope she can eventually.

Probably while she's standing in her kitchen wiping syrup off the table while her daughter sobs in her own bedroom.