How to Repair Your Family

Several years of serious illness completely railroaded my relationships with my kids. I hope this story of repair will encourage you to keep going, even when the outlook is bleak.

Before I became ill, our family was tight.

Then, almost overnight, I went from being a mum who could pour into my children to someone who was mostly trying to survive the day. Chronic illness has a way of shrinking your world until the people you love most end up getting the smallest version of you.

It hurt all of us.

(Not) picking up where we left off

When I finally had enough capacity to start rebuilding, I imagined we'd all be so relieved we'd simply pick up where we'd left off.

Dear reader... We did not.

Instead, almost every time we spent time together, my children used the opportunity to unload years of hurt.

It wasn't subtle.

There were speeches.

Cross-examinations.

Character assassinations.

At times it felt like I was parenting two exceptionally articulate barristers with an unlimited evidence file.

But underneath all of it, I knew something.

Children protest most loudly where they're still hoping to be heard.

So I kept showing up.

Again.

And again.

And again.

With what my son described as golden retriever energy.

I'd play.

I'd listen.

I'd apologise where I'd got things wrong. A lot.

I'd hold onto my own goodness when they couldn't see it.

I wasn’t perfect, I got triggered, missed the mark, couldn’t always summon the energy but I kept trying to become, over and over again, a nervous system that felt safe enough to return to.

Slowly, things softened.

Not in a straight line.

Not quickly.

Definitely not gracefully.

There were still spikes.

Still setbacks.

Still days I wondered whether we'd ever find our way back.

Then last weekend something quietly extraordinary happened.

It was my birthday.

Both of my children came enthusiastically. They brought cake, shared beautiful stories and poems. They chatted to my friends, made people drinks, gave me cuddles and, for the first time in a long time, I found myself looking around thinking,

"Oh... here we are."

Not perfect.

Not finished.

Just...

Together again.

I don't think relationships recover because somebody says exactly the right thing.

I think they recover because someone:

• keeps turning up.
• keeps choosing curiosity over defensiveness.
• keeps repairing.
• keeps communicating, "I'm still here."

Sometimes for much longer than feels fair.

If you're in the middle of that journey with your own family, I hope this offers a little encouragement.

Don't mistake slow for not working.

The nervous system heals at the speed of safety.

Keep showing up.

Keep playing.

Keep listening.

Keep setting well-placed, kind, confident limits.

Keep believing that today's protest may be tomorrow's trust.

One day you may find yourself standing in your own kitchen, or sitting at your own birthday table, wondering exactly when everyone started laughing together again.