Raise your words, not your voice. It is rain that grows flowers, not thunder”-Rumi
When the thunderstruck when I was a child it felt intense, loud, angry, stressed and raw.
The thunder made me feel ashamed, embarrassed, inadequate and worthless.
Was the thunder aware of the impact it had?
Did the thunder realize when it struck it was damaging?
The thunder survived the only way it knew how.
There were days when the thunder was nonexistent and it simply rained.
Sometimes sun rays beamed through the clouds and there were rainbows. Those were the playful days.
I did cartwheels in my front yard, ran through the sprinkler with my sisters, ate popsicles and stayed out until the sun went down.
Those were the days I wanted to succeed.
The carefree days.
The days I felt empathetic, capable and competent.
There were times when the thunderstorm would rumble inside me.
It felt awful.
When my thunderstruck I would immediately be consumed with feelings of guilt.
When the thunderstruck toward me in my home, I felt unloved.
But I was loved.
I just wasn’t loved the way I receive love.
I strive to raise my words with my daughters, rather than my voice.
I never want them to feel ashamed, inadequate, and worthless because of any thunder I may be feeling.
I try to use words that show how much I care.
Words of encouragement, empathy, respect, and above all; words of love.
I want my words to lift them up, make them feel competent, capable and special.
However, this isn’t always an easy task.
Some days the thunder strikes.
When the thunder does strike, I take steps to show them I’m sorry.
I show them I’m a messy human with huge emotions and that we all make mistakes.
My words to my children are raindrops (sometimes thunder) but my love for them unconditionally pours.
My hope is they grow as high as sunflowers that beam with so much confidence that way when the thunder strikes they have the resilience to continue to grow.