When the Dysregulated Pulls Up to the Family Reunion

It started innocent.

Folding chairs.

Paper plates.

Aunties perfumed.

Kids feral.

Somebody’s uncle guarding the grill like it came with a badge.

Everything was fine…

until the dysregulated arrived.

Angry pulled up irritated.

“Who organized this?”

No one answered.

Exactly.

Now she’s moving chairs, correcting the grill master, and threatening the potato salad with leadership.

The People-pleaser arrived late, loud, glowing, and already yelling,

“Who wants to play a game?”

Babe, the chicken wasn’t even done.

The spiritual one sat in the corner smiling.

“I’m fine.”

She was not fine.

She had been silently absorbing everyone’s tension like a decorative sponge.

Depressed walked in carrying a covered dish and four generations of unresolved emotion.

She looked around and sighed,

“This family never changes.”

And just like that, the reunion became a live-action nervous system audit with barbecue sauce.

Angry was ready to fight.

The people-pleaser was ready to distract.

The spiritual one was ready to disappear.

Depressed was ready to turn the whole event into a grief retreat.

Then somebody said,

“I’m just being honest.”

And Love…

nothing good has ever happened after a relative says, “I’m just being honest.”

That’s when the screen door opened.

Slowly.

Elegantly.

Like the ancestors approved her entrance.

Miss Lemon Balm stepped out.

Soft.

Green.

Gorgeous.

Unbothered.

Carrying a pitcher, vintage teacups, and the calm authority of a woman who does not argue with chaos.

She poured for Angry first.

“No, Love. You do not need to control the chairs to feel safe.”

Angry sipped.

Her jaw unclenched.

“I still think the layout is wrong.”

“That’s fine. Move the chairs without threatening the bloodline.”

Then Miss Lemon Balm turned to The People-pleaser.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to entertain everybody so nobody feels uncomfortable.”

The People-pleaser gasped.

“So I can still be fun?”

“Love, you are fun. Just don’t abandon yourself to become the family circus.”

Then came The Spiritual One.

“I’m fine.”

Miss Lemon Balm sat beside her.

“No, baby. You’re quiet. Those are not always the same thing.”

The Spiritual One sipped.

Exhaled.

Then whispered,

“I actually don’t want to sit next to Aunt Linda.”

Growth.

Finally, Miss Lemon Balm sat with Depressed.

“You feel everything in this family, don’t you?”

Depressed nodded.

“Too much.”

“No, Love. Not too much. You just keep letting every memory move back in.”

Depressed sipped.

The sadness softened.

“I can remember without drowning?”

“Yes, baby.”

And just like that…

Angry became direct instead of combative.

The People-pleaser became joyful instead of performative.

The Spiritual One became peaceful instead of silently resentful.

Depressed became tender instead of swallowed.

The family was still family.

Somebody still brought dry chicken.

Somebody still asked a child if they had a boyfriend.

Somebody still said, “You got big.”

But the dysregulated stopped letting old drama sabotage the whole damn day.

Miss Lemon Balm sat in the middle of the yard looking expensive in the sunlight.

A botanical auntie with boundaries.

A calm-down practice in a teacup.

A soft little warning from God: “They’re about to act up. Send the herbs.”

So next time your family starts family-ing…

Pour the lemon balm.

Pick up the pretty cup.

And whisper:

“Love, we are not letting generational tension sabotage the potato salad.”

“We are sipping.”

“We are softening.”

“And Miss Lemon Balm is chairing this reunion.”

xoxo