People tell me the first thing they feel around me is calm. Their shoulders drop. Their breath slows. Something they've been gripping for years finally loosens.

I know that grip. I used to yell at my kids. Not once in a while. All the time. Until the day I saw fear in their eyes and knew it had to change.

I've stood at the mirror pulling at the loose skin on my stomach, picking myself apart, and then looked up to see one of my girls watching.
Learning.

I didn't have it all figured out. I was still doing my own work. But I saw the patterns in myself clearly enough to stop handing them down.