Too Many Rules

 My parents had rules for everything.

Everything except themselves.

I learned very early to be a rule follower.

I knew that if I broke the rules in our home, there would be hell to pay.

So I learned to be careful.

To make sure I didn’t make a mistake.

And I carried that way of living with me into adulthood.

There were rules I followed without even realizing they were rules.

And if I thought I had broken one—even accidentally—I could feel threatened by it.

As though punishment might still be waiting.

What a heavy burden that is for a child to carry.

And even heavier when she grows up

and continues carrying it.

For years, I thought following the rules meant I was being responsible.

Now I’m beginning to wonder how much of it was fear.

Fear of getting it wrong.

Fear of consequences.

But I’m learning that adulthood comes with something childhood didn’t give me:

Choices 

I get to decide what matters.

I get to make mistakes without believing I’m in danger.

And perhaps most importantly,

I get to create my own rules for living—

rules built on love rather than fear.

Be kind.

Give myself grace.

And remember that I don’t have to be perfect to be safe.

Maybe it’s time to put down those old rules.

They were never mine to begin with.