My Words Won’t Fall Like Boulders

My Words Won’t Fall Like Boulders

My words are too heavy — they hurt my children

I wrote these words the same week both of my children told me that my words are too heavy.

Wow. I didn’t realise the weight they carried.

My son said he’s not as strong as me.

My daughter said my words feel like weights.

It made me sad — lovingly sad — because I only ever speak from my heart.

I never had these words growing up, so maybe now I fill the air with them.

My heart is heavy.

It bobs in my throat, drops to the bottom of my belly, swells, consumes me.

It tightens my throat, cuts my airway, makes it hurt.

My words fall like boulders.

Positivity can become negativity when someone doesn’t feel the same way.

I am a pusher — “Do better, be better.”

But who feels better?

Not me.

Why do I want my kids and friends to be positive?

Why do I fill the space?

Why do I pass the comment, enforce the quote?

Actions. Reactions. More reactions.

Words meant to spark joy.

Mantras.

They can all be written in front of your face on a giant chalkboard,

but until something shifts inside you, nothing changes.

You’ll find your own words.

You’ll find your own reactions.

You don’t need mine.

My words feel like boulders.

So I’ll put my words in poems —

you can choose to read them or not.

I never want to add pressure to lives already so fragile.

I meant it with the kindest heart.

I always meant it with the kindest heart.

I’ll do better.

My words won’t fall like boulders.