Speaking kindly to my kids is really difficult for me. If I had my way, I would not only speak harshly, I’d also yell everything.

“Who left their cough drop wrappers all over my house?!”

“Did you forget how to do dishes?!”

“If I see one more thing in the laundry that I know wasn’t worn, I’m going to lock you in your room till prom.”

Instead, I try to say…

“Please come over here and pick up these wrappers.”

“Whose turn is it to do dishes?”

“Please fold your laundry and put it away so it doesn’t end up in the wash again next week.”

My first language is Micromanaging-perfectionist-martyrese. For years, I’ve been thinking in it, dreaming in it, and spewing it. And, no matter how much I rest, meditate, exercise, eat right and breathe, that will always be my first language. This is not to suggest I didn’t know how to love, I just didn’t realize how much I was struggling with what it means to be loving.

It takes a long time to learn a second language and can be easily lost if not spoken regularly. The more I immerse myself in these words of compassion and acceptance, and continually surround myself with people who speak them fluently, the more I comprehend their importance. And, the more I speak this way to myself, the more I speak this way to others.

And hey, I’ve always wanted to know how to speak another language…I just never imagined it could be the one I already knew.