I just read a poster–
the way we talk to our children becomes their inner voice.
Wow, I thought, true.
I remember my grandmother’s wake–old style, do-it-right southern luncheon. I could hear her voice in my head exclaiming over how delicious the fried chicken was. That was the last time I heard her voice.
My mother’s voice haunts me. I miss her laugh and her intelligence and her occasional generosity. But there are many things she says to and about me I do not miss. I have taken steps to avoid those painful words.
After my daughters’ counselor read Just she said, Now I understand why you are such a careful parent.
I want more than anything for my children’s inner voice to be one of profound wisdom and love.
A love that lasts forever.