Yesterday, while preparing dinner for my family, I reached for one of our ceramic plates to serve the soup. It slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor.
For a moment, I felt bad. I felt that way not because I was scared but because I had broken something. And that immediately brought back my childhood memories.
While growing up, breaking a plate or mug is a big deal. My mom had a lot of them. But my siblings and I almost broke everything. So at some point my mom had to go and buy plastic and stainless steel plates for us.
She used them to serve us while she reserved the breakables for my dad and visitors.
Looking back now, it's actually a funny memory.
What surprised me the most yesterday wasn't that I broke the plate—it was how calm I felt afterward. There was no fear. No anxiety. Just the realization that accidents happen.
But then another thought crossed my mind...
I might react differently if my son had broken those plates....maybe same way my mom did . Because now I know those plates where expensive.
If it had been my son who broke that plate, my first instinct might have been to react the same way my mum did.
That realization made me pause and reflect.
It's amazing how easily we carry the parenting styles we grew up with into our own homes without even noticing.
