I have survived two decades of parenting by talking to myself. My incantations are my alter ego reminding me to put things in perspective, step back and take a breath and that things will probably be okay. So while the mom voice in my head is shrieking, at myself or my kids, there is a calmer quieter voice reminding me to count to 10 before I speak.
I come from a legacy of mothers who left their mark upon me, etching profound disturbances, carving hollows of loss. I was determined to be different, but there's something about wounding deep below the surface that's not easy to escape. I knew when I was nine that my mother and grandmother were not what I wanted to be, but the webs they wove caught me anyway.