What I Didn't Say After I Lost My Cool
- Carmen Hurst
- Jul 9
- 2 min read
This post has been a few days in the making as the situation took place this past Sunday.
He had just come home.
A full week of freedom with his friends—no early alarms, no practices, no family obligations. I hadn’t asked for much. Just hoped, quietly, that maybe we’d reconnect. Maybe he’d want to be home.... With me.
But he barely said a word.
Dropped his bag, went to his room, took a shower, looked at his phone.
And then asked if he could leave again.
Except… it wasn’t really an ask.
The plans were already made. My permission was more of a formality.
And I said no.
Not because I wanted to control him.
But because I missed him.
Because I wanted him to want to be here, with me.
Because I was tired of being the background character in his summer story.
He didn’t take it well.
He got loud—angry, frustrated, defensive.
And this time… I got loud too.
I matched his tone with mine. I let my hurt speak louder than my patience.
And it all unraveled, fast.
He threw out words that stung.
I said things I didn’t mean.
I gave in, said he could go, as I couldn't bare the arguing.... and he left, agreeing to be home for dinner.
And when the door closed behind him, I stood there. Sad. Ashamed.
Disappointed—not just in how he spoke to me, but in how I responded.
I wanted to fix it.
To text. To explain. To smooth it all over with “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
But I didn’t. Because I knew it wasn’t about him anymore—it was about me. About my need to be seen. To be appreciated. To be valued.
So I didn’t chase him. I didn’t defend myself. I sat with the hurt. With the guilt. With the silence.
And then—as asked—he came home.Before the assigned time. No apology. No big entrance. Just... back.
He sat at the table. He passed the condiments. He complained that we didn’t have what he wanted. (sigh)
Then later, I watched him walk the dog with his sister, like nothing had happened. Like maybe that was his way of coming back. And I didn’t say much.
I didn’t say, “Thank you for coming home.” Didn’t say, “That really hurt earlier.” Didn’t say anything about the fight at all. Because in that moment, I realized:Not everything needs to be picked apart or patched up with a bow.
Sometimes, grace is letting a kid return on his own terms.
Sometimes, love is found in the re-entry, not the apology.
And sometimes, what you don’t say gives the relationship enough space to breathe again.
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