2 Star.

a song to set the scene // i’ve got a thing about trains by johnny cash

It all started with a kid running through the railcar.

He had a face full of joy, as any child would, as he made laps up and down the train.

Thing is: running is… not allowed.

And so, as I was preparing myself to crush this child’s dream, my mom, who happens to be my boss, and who is also very sensitive to kids running in her railcar, suddenly turned around and brusquely told me she’d handle it.

Not good. Not good.

Though I didn’t hear the conversation, I could tell by her walk that she was upset. High on emotion, I knew it probably wasn’t the best way to handle this particular situation.

Sure enough, shortly after my mom talked with the boy, the family left.

Couple of minutes later, I received an email notification.

So and so left you a review.

Uh oh.

2 stars.

Oh no.

I knew, even before I confirmed the name, that it came from the family that had just been in.

And I was pissed.

Not at the review though, mind you, but at my mother.

See, I had had a lovely interaction with this family.

I had upsold them on a pour over, we had joked about kids and their hot chocolates, and so I knew this review wasn’t about their experience with me, but about their final moments with my mom.

And it was all thanks to this darn kid running through the railcar.

I was upset then, for multiple reasons.

Most important of which had to do with boundaries between me and my mom (or lack, thereof); who, again, happens to be my boss.

Upon receiving this review, I then went storming over to meet with my gem.

I needed to vent.

So in rapid fire speed, I explained the situation and within minutes I came to the conclusion, on my own, that I needed to approach my mom about it today. Like now.

With mere minutes to spare before my next shift, I told my sister, who also happens to be my boss, and who is also very sensitive to family drama before a dinner shift that I needed to speak with Mom.

“Good luck. She’s not in a good mood.”

Noted.

Walking upstairs, I asked my mom if she could step away for a minute, then I took her outside and sat down.

Pulling up my boss pants, I sat across from her. And for the first time, I started the very difficult conversation not as a daughter to a mother, but as an adult to an adult.

I started by asking her if she was able to accept information about work, that of which had to do directly with her.

Looking at me nervously, I then told her about the 2 star review.

She was defensive, of course. She felt it had been justified, as it was to protect her railcar, her house, her rules.

And it was justified. We have rules, there’s no running in the railcar, and that child needed to be corrected, absolutely.

What perturbed me most, however, was that I wasn’t able to enforce those rules.

Brushed aside, I felt I hadn’t been given the trust and responsibility of handling the particular situation that was my job to handle in the first place. And as a result, my mom’s sensitivity to kids running with reckless abandon in her place of business was handled rather emotionally.

So as we’re sitting there, having this very real conversation, I realize that this conversation is a first of its kind.

I like firsts.

Especially when they’re the result of much needed boundary setting.

Though new, and nerve-racking, and potentially devastating to the success of the dinner shift that was fast approaching, it felt natural, good, and right.

At the end of our meeting, I felt, for the first time, that my voice had been heard.

In the extremely challenging mother/daughter/boss/manager relationship, I felt significant progress had been made. For the first time, I was encouraged by how effectively we were able to talk through a problem, adult to adult.

Moral of the story? 2 star reviews suck.

And while I will forever experience trauma when I get a notification that someone left us a review, and though I feel it is the most cowardly way to give feedback to businesses that are doing their darnedest to make people happy, you can always learn from the experience.

Look at it this way: had we not gotten that review, my mom and I would’ve missed out on an incredible opportunity to grow in our mother/daugther/boss/manager relationship.

So and so: thank you for the 2 star review.

But please: no running in the railcar.

Flicker.

a song to set the scene // dear, dolores by illumining, dominique charpentier

The night had been going so well.

My family and I had just enjoyed a scrumptious dinner of spaghetti carbonara. Bringing out the Veuve, we toasted to a record breaking weekend at work and then watched Sing 2 together.

*Shocker* my dad even stayed up for the whole movie.

Going home with my gem, I almost felt high. It had truly been such a great night.

But then, as I started getting undressed to take a shower, I slowly felt that high wearing off.

It was as though this moment of undress, this one instant of being present and alone with my thoughts suddenly invited all of my worries and fears to come forth.

Reality was coming back to me; and with it, exhaustion.

With exhaustion came anxiety, pouncing through the door like Tigger.

Dread followed close behind, dragging heaviness and a sense of foreboding.

It was, simply put, about work.

Which, as of late, has been a significant stress.

Following closely to the cycle of last year, as August approaches, so do the same problems.

Unable to control what’s about to happen, and feeling overwhelmed and exhausted with serving the public day after day, I feel my body’s mental and physical health starting to wan.

Standing on thin ice, I’m losing all ability to keep things together. And with exhaustion, anxiety, dread, and heaviness all crowded in the same living room, it’s no wonder I feel as though I’m suffocating.

Bawling these ever present worries to my gem, I cried into my knees for what felt like hours.

He tried to comfort me. He kept saying things like It’ll be okay, and We’ll figure this out together but I felt as though he couldn’t really hear me, couldn’t understand what I was going through.

All logical and problem solving abilities were lost to the wind at this point. Nothing he said was going to help.

So he stopped saying anything.

And he started doing something.

Crying continuously, I sat there and sobbed as he moved about the house.

All of a sudden, he was lifting me up off the floor, and helping me to his room.

Apparently, it wasn’t words I needed, but action.

For my exhausted body: he made up a bed, just for me.

For my anxious mind: my breathe playlist, playing softly in the background.

For the dread overstaying its welcome: he had lit a candle, to show dread the way out.

For the heaviness and this sense of foreboding: my gem wrapped his arms tightly around me, reminding me that I wasn’t truly alone, that everything was going to be okay.

He had done all of this: for me.

My heart exploded with love.

As my gem continued whispering encouragements and affirmations in my ear, my tears of sorrow turned into tears of gratitude and joy.

Like an earthquake, love shook the house and emptied it of exhaustion, anxiety, dread, and heaviness.

I was suddenly radiant, filled with warmth by this flicker of hope.

Falling asleep in the safety of his arms, and love now coursing through my heart, the candle’s flame was the last thing my weary eyes saw.

Reminding me, each flicker, that there was, indeed, hope.