A Saturday Morning Power Struggle

It was Saturday morning, and I had big plans.

The night before, I laid it all out with my husband: “Tomorrow, I’m unplugging. No phone, just intentional time with you and the kids.” Maybe we'd bake something, write a song with our daughter, or even try a craft—get all Pinterest-y with it. After a long week, I needed a break. Since it had been raining all weekend, our plans were already canceled. It was the perfect day to just be present and relax.

But then, my son woke up.

I heard the door slam, then the heavy stomping down the hallway, and then bam—he stubbed his toe. He cried out loud enough to make sure the whole house knew he was awake. 

He got dressed, came into my room to say good morning, and by that point, I was… annoyed. I did my best to brush it off and give him some attention. After he left, I tried to return to my journaling, still hoping for that peaceful morning vibe.

A few moments later, I casually mentioned to my husband that we could go to the rec center since it was raining outside. We asked the kids what they thought about swimming and playing basketball at the center.

Cue the eruption.

My son went from zero to 100 in two seconds. “No! I hate the rec center. It’s boring. The pool’s too small. Why do we even pay for that place?”

That’s when I snapped. My low-key annoyance morphed into full-blown frustration.

"Hey, you need to cool it. You've been on edge all morning."

Of course, my son responded with even more intensity: “Geez, Mom! I’m just responding to your question. Why do you have to pick apart everything I say?”

“Nope, not doing this.” I said as I set down my coffee, put my journal aside, and escaped to the kitchen to look up a blueberry scone recipe. My daughter and I were supposed to bake, after all, and I was determined to salvage this day.

But inside, I was stewing. Why was I so annoyed with my son? Why did we keep getting into these power struggles? The closer he gets to his teenage years, the harder it is for me to keep my cool.

Here’s the thing though — I do know. 

One of the revelations that came through the storywork I’ve been engaging these last few years is that much of my connection with my parents was based on intensity and duty, and anger was often what brought us together. We’d argue, they’d sit on my bed afterward to hash things out, and then I’d learn how to “be better.” That’s how I learned to relate to the world—through conflict and control. And guess what? I passed that on to my son.

My son is just like me. He knows exactly how to push my buttons, escalate the situation, and then sink into shame once I start telling him how to do things better. It’s a cycle we’re both caught in.

But now, I'm aware of it.

I’m working to break that pattern, to show up for my son with gentleness, patience, and kindness instead of control and correction before connection. It doesn’t mean I don’t discipline, but it does mean I lead with presence rather than power.

Jesus modeled this. The only time we see Him explicitly angry in Scripture is when His disciples tried to turn children away. Jesus was indignant saying, “Let the children come to me.” He valued their dignity and their hearts. He didn’t dismiss or devalue them. 

So after my son and I had cooled down, I went to him and asked if we could try again. We talked it out—both of us owning our parts. Sure, we could’ve swept it under the rug and moved on, but these moments matter. Every time we power up over each other, it chips away at the connection we’re trying to build. What I want more than anything is to create a home where there’s safety, belonging, and peace.

I apologized for overreacting and being impatient.

He owned his disrespect too. We both realized something: we both wanted the same thing. We both wanted a calm, connected Saturday morning. We wanted to enjoy each other’s company. And guess what? The day wasn’t over—we could still make it happen.

Repair is one of the greatest gifts we can give our kids and ourselves, too. When we own our part and seek forgiveness, something beautiful happens. It’s no longer about the parent being “in charge” and demanding behavior modification. It’s about two people, each in their God-given place of authority, submitting to the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.