What is this feeling?

What is this feeling? It’s not depression. I already know that trick-ass bitch all too well. This is something else. Something deeper.

Being an aunt is my favorite thing. Getting to see two of them almost daily is a freaking treasure. How many other aunts get to say that? I should be happy, right? But lately, I’ve been coming home heartbroken, trying to understand why something I love so much feels so... difficult.

Sis is so easy to love. She has the biggest heart, and she is smarter than any four year old should ever be. I want to make things with her, take her places, play, and enjoy our time together. But according to everyone else who spends extended time with her, she acts differently around me. But wwwwwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyy? Even the things she asks for turn into arguments I don’t know how to get us out of.

She’ll ask for a specific craft project from upstairs, and I’m pumped. Crafts are fun. This is where I shine. I get everything unpacked and set up, and then she cries and screams that it’s the wrong craft. She wanted something else, something nowhere close to what she asked for. Okay. People change their minds. I do it all the time. So I put everything away and get the one she says she “really” wanted. But she waits until that one is unpacked, and suddenly it’s wrong too.

Eventually, I tell her it’s this or no crafts because I’m not doing that again. Then comes the screaming, fighting, hitting, and arguing. I hold the boundary, but something we were excited to do together has become upsetting for both of us. In the moment, it feels like she’s fucking with me. Once we’re both upset, I can’t figure out what she wanted from our time together.

The park can go the same way. I’m helping Bubby on the “giant spider web” when she asks me to play. Sure, I’m awesome. I’d want to play with me, too. I get him down so she can have a turn with my attention, but when we come over, she tells us we’re stupid for coming to play. I remind her to say what she means, and we go to the swings. She doesn’t want that either. There’s screaming, I’m embarrassed, and we end up going home. I wanted to play with her. She asked me to play with her. Somehow, we still ended up leaving upset.

It’s a weird, heartbreaking thing to love a kid this easily and struggle this much to get through a day together. Sometimes I think it would be easier if she were mean. But I know her heart. I miss enjoying something together without going home wondering what the fuck happened. How did we get here? What am I missing?!?!?!

I’ve been working on myself a lot. I’ve read every book, article, and mommy blog I can find that feels close to our situation. The ideas people give me are usually things I’ve already tried. I know they’re trying to help. I just don’t know where to go next when I’m already doing what they suggest... and we’re still struggling. Sometimes I’m told, “She just needs more mommy time,” and my brain starts spiraling. Would Mom cutting back her work hours help? If that isn’t possible, what could we do during my time with her? My sister hears me, and she does try... HARD! She’s frustrated too. Neither of us has found the answer yet.

I’m concerned for Sis. I don’t want so much of our time together to be spent in anger. But I’m her aunt, not her parent. In my head, I’m just a glorified babysitter with a credit card, a driver’s license, and a sick ass playlist. That’s my vibe. All this behavior correction and saying no all the time? I HATE playing parent. I understand that I have to say no for health and safety reasons. I just don’t like it, and I think they can sense that. They know I want to cave and spoil them. But I know that won’t help any of us in the long run, so I hold the boundary even when everything in me wants to be the fun aunt who says yes.

The silver lining to this madness: I LOVE feeling like they trust me enough to misbehave and still know I’m coming back. A difficult stretch isn’t going to make Auntie stop loving them. There’s something really tender in that, even when I’m exhausted overall.

I told you. Weird feeling.

I’m with these kids for the majority of their waking hours. So when I hear that she doesn’t act this way with everyone else, my brain goes straight to, “This HAS to be a me problem.” I go back through what I said, how I responded, what I could have done differently. I feel like I’m failing her, and I cannot figure out how to fix it. I’m willing to do whatever it takes. But I’m honestly at a loss, and I think we all are.

I hear, “You’re so good with them.” “They love you so much.” “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” Those words mean something to me. It’s just hard to reconcile their confidence in me with how much I’m questioning myself. Sometimes I downplay a difficult day because they don’t see the same behavior, and I struggle to explain it. I leave feeling like I haven’t quite gotten across what’s happening or how much it’s affecting me.

Some of that hurt goes back years. I used to stress nonstop about the kids and the house, then hear comments suggesting I hadn’t done things I knew I was doing. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who ever brushes their teeth” has stayed with me for almost two years. Meanwhile, the kids wanted to brush so often that I had to stop putting toothpaste on the brush every time. Being told to focus on the kids, then hearing comments about unfinished housework, left me unsure how to get it right. It took a fucking meltdown and a screaming match for me to feel heard. I wish it hadn’t needed to reach that point. And I'm NOT proud of it.

But things have changed, and I want to give my sister and brother in law credit for the work they’ve put in too. I’m really proud of my sister for learning to communicate her needs more clearly with her husband and for allowing a little mess to exist without everything having to be just right all the time. They’re both trying. The hurt I still carry from older moments doesn’t erase their progress, and our current struggle doesn’t mean they aren’t working on it.

But I cried coming home again today. I pour my heart and soul into those kids, and it hurts to leave a day together feeling this way. I’m tired of carrying it home, replaying everything, hoping I’ll finally spot something I can change.

Maybe helplessness is the word I’ve been looking for. It’s close, but it still doesn’t feel weird enough to explain this unique situation. We’re all trying. I know that, and I see it. But I’m still struggling, and I don’t know what to do with that on my end. I can appreciate their effort and still cry on the way home. I can know how much these kids love me and still feel like I’m failing them. I don’t know what else I need or what else I can change. I just know this is hurting, and I haven’t figured out where to put that at the moment.