Yesterday, in a fit of anger, my daughter snatched her canapy down from the ceiling and walls. We’ve had several talks over recent weeks and months about her habit of destroying things when she’s angry and why it’s a habit we need to break. And yet, it remains her default response when told “no”, seemingly only because she knows how much it upsets me. So when she told me what she’d done last night and showed me the damage, I immediately yelled for her to go to bed. I was too angry for words.
This morning, she woke up and shuffled into the living room and into my lap, dragging her pillow behind her and rubbing the last traces of sleep from her eyes.
“You didn’t say sorry for yelling,” she reminded me as she laid her head down in my lap.
“I’m really upset that you keep breaking things on purpose,” came my response. “Why do you keep doing things that you know I don’t like and you know hurts me?”
“Because sometimes, my heart gets broken,” she stated softly. Her voice cracked as though she might cry. “Sometimes, I have hard feelings.”
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