I didn’t hit my head on a 40-foot statue of Elvis. Embarrassingly enough, sometimes even incredibly talented and smart, young, up-and-coming blog writers have to come up with clickbait lies to make taglines more interesting. However, you should be happy to note that many commendable Elvis statues exist on this very Earth. You should be doubly happy to learn that I did, in fact, hit my head very hard at the St. Louis City Museum about a month ago, and it may be the very reason I decided to start this publication. Hitting my head has certainly changed a couple of things. For instance, sometimes when I reach down and lift my head back up, I feel a funny little whooshing pressure. Another kooky thing I’ve been experiencing is a slight temperamental shift. I’ve noticed myself becoming unusually irritable, and being able to recognize when I’ve been irritable is an interesting development. For example, have you ever been arguing with a family member, and as the words leave your mouth, you begrudgingly realize you shouldn’t have just said that gnarly thing you inconsiderately spit out? Pretty universal experience, I suspect. Sometimes this leads to an instant apology—"Oh god, I’m so sorry, that was too far." Or, sometimes, it’s tiptoeing into your mom’s room an hour after your screaming match about leaving the toilet seat up. Regardless of the situation, guilt and remorse can be powerful feelings when they involve the ones we love. This is why I believe my temperamental change has impacted me more deeply. What do you do when your thoughts and feelings aren’t, well, what you know to be you? What I’ve started doing is this crazy thing I just discovered: setting a boundary—woah, revolutionary. But seriously, I didn’t realize until last week that you could simply say, “Hey, can we not talk right now? I’m feeling irritable, and I don’t want to lash out.” I wish I had known this sooner—it would have saved me from a few monthly PMS monstrosities. My new strategy has worked with some friends and family, but I’ve also stumbled onto the OYJMF response.

What is the OYJMF response? OYJMF stands for “Oh, you’re just my family,” and it can be used to describe any situation where, despite the love and compassion we feel for our families, we tend not to care or choose our words as wisely around them. OYJMF isn’t always bad. In fact, it can be wonderful, as it can signal that your family is a place of belonging, where you can drop the false exterior and feel comfortable. But personally, I like to see love as comfort without complacency—and complacency is the negative side of OYJMF. For me, complacency has manifested in people close to me sometimes not respecting or understanding my newfound boundaries. We’ve all likely been complacent in our family dynamics in one way or another because, let’s face it, the human experience is full of trials, and it’s often hard to know how unreasonable you’re being when it comes to family.

I’d like to flip this conversation for a second and discuss the other side of the coin. Sometimes, it’s really hard to tell when a problem is ours or a family member’s, and it becomes far too easy to unnecessarily shoulder their burden. Therapists everywhere shudder at the mere mention of this one. Simply say the words “But I want to help them” in their office, and you’ll be met with a resounding “You can only control your actions” and a “You can’t fix other people.” Though I’m not a fan of the excessive “put yourself first” self-care mentality, the therapists are definitely right about this one. As many notable existentialists, intro to philosophy students, and kids in time-out have discovered, we make choices, and those choices determine outcomes. While we exist within social parameters, we get to decide if those are followed or not. We also get to decide, for the most part, how we treat other people, and sometimes, even if someone is treated poorly, they will still try to remedy the situation because of their conditioning. This, of course, is a silly thing to do because—oh boy, get ready for the title of the article—your friends and family have reaped what they’ve sown. In conclusion, have I reaped what I’ve sown? Yes. Should I have tried to stand up while in a 2ft tunnel at the St. Louis City Museum? No—and Mom, I’m sorry for leaving the toilet seat up.