Chapter Eight Summary: The Weight of Love

On Parenting from Parts, and the Long Road Back to Self

When we put down roots in our new town, we built a stable life: a new house, two growing boys, meaningful work. But while our external world settled, my internal system still struggled. Parenting our smart, intense, emotional firstborn, was equal parts joy and emotional whiplash. His outbursts were intermittent and unpredictable. His tenderness and love, just as intense.

From the outside, I looked like a grounded, capable mother. But inside, my parts were scrambling. Manager Me tried to stay ahead of every meltdown. Surface Me winced with shame anytime he unraveled in public. Little Me, flooded by his chaos, longed for calm. And Self Me, when she showed up, was often too outnumbered to lead.

This chapter traces the years we spent navigating Oldest Son’s escalating dysregulation, the grief and guilt of losing my temper, and the patterns that formed between my son’s emotional storms and my own childhood wounds. It captures our slow realization that love and patience weren’t enough, and the slow path to trying to parent well, including an ADHD diagnosis and medication that brought both relief and new challenges.

But The Weight of Love is also a story of deep connection. Of making room for repair. Of learning, over and over, that regulating a child starts with regulating ourselves. That I wasn’t just trying to calm my oldest. I was trying to soothe the hurting child inside me.

Eventually, when the fog of early parenting began to lift, I found space to meet my own needs. But instead of rest, I reached for control. I trained for a marathon, convincing myself it was self-care. In truth, it was Surface Me chasing a version of wellness that looked good on paper, and it quietly reawakened ED Me, who had been dormant for years.

By the end of this chapter, I’m running obsessively and compulsively. From the outside, everything still looks fine.

But inside, something has started to slip.