When the Dysregulated Temperaments Pull Up to the Family Reunion
🍋🌿And Miss Lemon Balm Had to Come Outside and Regulate the Bloodline
It started as a simple family reunion.
Tables in the yard.
Cousins arguing over who made the best potato salad.
Somebody’s uncle standing too close to the grill like he had been appointed by God.
The aunties were perfumed.
The kids were feral.
The folding chairs were already judging people.
Everything was fine.
Until the dysregulated temperaments arrived.
The Strategist pulled up first.
Not parked.
Pulled up.
Like the driveway owed her money.
She stepped out the car already irritated.
“Who organized this?”
Nobody answered.
Exactly.
That was the problem.
“The chairs are too close to the food table. The drinks should be in the shade. Who put macaroni next to baked beans? That’s poor traffic flow.”
She had been there twelve seconds and had already appointed herself Director of Operations, Emotional Security, and Grill Supervision.
Then The Muse arrived.
Late.
Glowing.
Loud.
Wearing sunglasses that had no business being that glamorous at 2:17 in the afternoon.
“Heyyyyy family!”
She hugged everybody.
Forgot half their names.
Started three conversations.
Finished none of them.
Then immediately said,
“We should play a game!”
The Strategist blinked.
“We are not playing a game. We are trying to get this food line under control.”
The Muse gasped.
“Babe, the food line is not the vibe. The vibe is connection.”
Then she turned around and yelled,
“Who wants to do karaoke?”
Three children screamed.
One elder clutched her pearls.
The Strategist’s eye twitched.
Meanwhile, The Discerner was sitting in the corner pretending nothing was happening.
She had a plate.
She had a napkin.
She had the emotional posture of a woman trying to disappear into a lawn chair.
Her cousin leaned over and whispered,
“You okay?”
The Discerner smiled.
“I’m fine.”
She was not fine.
She had been silently tracking everybody’s tone since she arrived.
Who hugged who.
Who didn’t speak.
Who looked at the dessert table too long.
Who said “interesting” in a way that meant war.
But instead of saying anything, she just kept eating pasta salad and absorbing tension like a decorative sponge.
Then The Sage arrived carrying a covered dish and the weight of four generations.
She looked around once and sighed.
“This family never changes.”
The Muse ran over.
“Heyyyy! You look beautiful!”
The Sage smiled faintly.
“Thank you. I almost didn’t come.”
Everyone knew.
Because she says that every year.
She placed her dish on the table, adjusted the aluminum foil twice, and quietly noticed that nobody had labeled the food for allergens.
Then she sat down and began mentally drafting a dissertation titled:
Why This Family Cannot Gather Without Recreating the Original Wound.
By 3:00 PM, the reunion was no longer a reunion.
It was a live-action nervous system audit with barbecue sauce.
The Strategist was snapping at people near the grill.
“Don’t flip it yet.”
“Move.”
“Who brought store-bought buns?”
The Muse was trying to make everybody dance before the chicken was done.
“Come on, y’all! We need memories!”
The Discerner was smiling so hard her cheeks were about to file for workers’ comp.
“I’m good. I’m good. Everything’s good.”
The Sage was staring at one auntie who had not spoken to her since 2018.
“She knows what she did.”
Nobody knew what she did.
But the energy said it was historic.
Then the family drama started.
Because of course it did.
Somebody mentioned money.
Somebody mentioned “how your mama used to be.”
Somebody said,
“I’m just being honest.”
And Babe…
Nothing good has ever happened after a relative says, “I’m just being honest.”
The Strategist stood up.
“Oh, so we’re doing this today?”
The Muse whispered,
“Wait, is this drama or are we still having fun?”
The Discerner started folding napkins that did not need folding.
The Sage looked into the distance like a violins-only soundtrack had begun playing behind her.
The potato salad lost its peace.
The Strategist was ready to fight.
The Muse was ready to distract.
The Discerner was ready to disappear.
The Sage was ready to turn the whole reunion into a grief retreat.
The day was being sabotaged in four different flavors.
Anger.
Avoidance.
Performance.
Emotional excavation.
And that is when the screen door opened.
Slowly.
Elegantly.
Like the ancestors had approved her entrance.
And there she was.
Miss Lemon Balm.
Gorgeous.
Soft.
Green.
Unbothered.
Carrying a glass pitcher, vintage teacups, and the calm authority of a woman who does not argue with chaos.
She did not yell.
She did not clap her hands.
She did not say, “Can everybody calm down?”
Because everybody knows that phrase makes people want to act worse.
Miss Lemon Balm simply walked to the table and said,
“Come here, Loves.”
The whole yard got quieter.
Even the grill stopped smoking disrespectfully.
She poured the tea.
First for The Strategist.
“Here, baby.”
The Strategist crossed her arms.
“I don’t need tea. I need people to act right.”
Miss Lemon Balm smiled.
“No, Love. You need your body to stop preparing for battle over paper plates.”
The Muse covered her mouth.
The Discerner whispered, “That was accurate.”
The Strategist took the cup.
Sipped.
Paused.
Her shoulders lowered one inch.
“I still think the chairs are wrong.”
Miss Lemon Balm nodded.
“That’s fine. But now you can move them without threatening the bloodline.”
Then Miss Lemon Balm turned to The Muse.
Sanguine was mid-sentence.
“So then I told her we should all go live together in a mansion and start a family podcast—”
“Sweetheart.”
The Muse froze.
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to entertain everybody to keep the room from falling apart.”
The Muse blinked.
“I don’t?”
“No, baby. Sometimes joy is real. And sometimes joy is a glittery escape route.”
The Muse took the cup.
Sipped.
Her smile softened.
“So I can still be the fun one?”
Miss Lemon Balm touched her hand.
“Of course. Just don’t abandon yourself to become the entertainment committee.”
The Muse nodded.
Then whispered,
“Can I still suggest karaoke later?”
“After everyone eats.”
“Fair.”
Then Miss Lemon Balm walked over to The Discerner.
The Discerner was arranging forks no one asked her to arrange.
“I’m fine.”
Miss Lemon Balm sat beside her.
“I know, baby.”
The Discerner smiled.
“I just don’t want to make anything worse.”
“And that’s why your stomach has been tight since you got here.”
The Discerner’s eyes got watery.
Miss Lemon Balm handed her the cup.
“You can want peace without swallowing every problem in the yard.”
The Discerner sipped.
The warmth landed in her belly.
For the first time all day, she exhaled.
Then she looked across the yard and said,
“I actually don’t want to sit next to Aunt Linda.”
The whole table gasped.
The Strategist whispered,
“Growth.”
Finally, Miss Lemon Balm sat beside The Sage.
The Sage had been staring at the family photo table like it had personally betrayed her.
Miss Lemon Balm poured her tea gently.
“You feel a lot in this family, don’t you?”
The Sage nodded.
“Too much.”
“No, Love. Not too much.”
Miss Lemon Balm slid the cup closer.
“You just keep confusing every feeling with a verdict.”
The Sage looked up.
Miss Lemon Balm continued,
“A memory can visit without moving back in.”
Babe.
The ancestors leaned forward.
The Sage took a sip.
The sadness did not disappear.
But it stopped driving the car.
She whispered,
“I can remember without drowning?”
Miss Lemon Balm smiled.
“Yes, Love.”
“And you can leave the reunion before you become the family historian, therapist, and unpaid grief doula.”
The Sage clutched the teacup.
“That feels… revolutionary.”
“It is.”
And slowly, the reunion changed.
Not perfectly.
This was still family.
Somebody was still too loud.
Somebody still brought dry chicken.
Somebody still asked a child if they had a boyfriend.
But the temperaments stopped sabotaging the whole damn day.
The Strategist became direct instead of combative.
The Muse became joyful instead of performative.
The Discerner became peaceful instead of silently resentful.
The Sage became tender instead of swallowed by old wounds.
And Miss Lemon Balm?
She sat in the middle of the yard looking expensive in the sunlight.
Like a botanical auntie with boundaries.
Like a calm-down blessing in a teacup.
Like God said, “They’re about to act up. Send in the herbs.”
By sunset, the family was laughing.
The plates were full.
The aunties were softer.
The cousins were loud in the right way.
And the temperaments were finally seated inside their better rhythms.
The Strategist raised her cup.
“To not fighting near the grill.”
The Muse lifted hers.
“To joy that doesn’t need to perform.”
The Discerner smiled.
“To saying what I actually want before my stomach starts sending emails.”
The Sage looked around.
“To remembering without drowning.”
Miss Lemon Balm smiled.
“To calming everybody the fuck down… with elegance.”
And that, Love, is how the family reunion was saved.
Not by pretending nobody had issues.
Not by letting everybody act wild in the name of “that’s just family.”
But by giving every dysregulated part a seat, a sip, and a softer way to survive the day.
So the 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