I’m Embarrassed by How I Communicate with My Kids

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When 2015 began, instead of setting New Year’s resolutions, I decided to focus on being a better version of myself. There are many areas I want to improve, but one stands out: becoming a better mom. Honestly, I feel embarrassed about the way I talk to my children. While I do okay teaching them good manners, the importance of hard work, and even how to start the lawn mower, my inner grouch often surfaces more than I’d like to admit.

I tend to lose my cool when they don’t follow through with my requests, which are usually things I ask them to do EVERY…SINGLE…DAY.

• Did you brush your teeth?
• Is your bed made?
• Hang up your backpack.
• Put your dirty dishes away.

I’m guessing you’re nodding along, right? I can’t imagine how tired they must be of hearing me ask, and honestly, I’m fed up with repeating myself too. Yet, I’ve always justified my yelling because “I asked nicely three times and they didn’t do it.” In my head, they deserved it. But why do I keep nagging and then expect different results?

• Why can’t you just do it without me having to remind you a thousand times?
• What part of “no” don’t you understand?
• If I have to tell you to do _____ one more time, I’m going to lose it!

What I’m doing isn’t parenting; it’s shaming. Deep down, I know that’s not who I want to be. I’m a mom who wants to laugh, love, show compassion, forgive, and set a good example for my kids. I want to build strong relationships that no mistake—big or small—could damage. Instead, I worry that I’m creating a rift between us.

How can I ever have that kind of relationship with my kids when I resort to shaming them? Parenting is about loving our kids regardless of their actions, not about shaming them into compliance.

Through my struggles, I’ve learned that parents often replicate behaviors they experienced as children. I came across a fascinating piece in Psychology Today that referred to this as “a legacy of distorted love.” Bingo! Brené Brown even devotes a chapter in her book, Daring Greatly, to the concept of shame, which struck a chord with me.

“Being bad at vulnerability often means we’re really good at shame.” Another bingo moment!

It’s funny because I can be quite open and vulnerable in my writing (like this article), yet I find it hard to be vulnerable as a parent. I feel like I need to have it all figured out and be the one guiding my kids. I can’t let them see that I don’t have all the answers!

My real mistake isn’t that I’m not the perfect mother; it’s that I haven’t shown them that my imperfections are a part of who I am. When my kids “fail,” I feel like I’ve failed too. Instead of creating a space to talk about our mistakes and learn from them, I end up creating a shame storm (credit to Brené) to distract myself from my feelings of inadequacy. This cycle just adds to the guilt and shame, and soon any potential lesson is overshadowed by my own feelings of failure.

Why isn’t there a manual for this parenting gig?!

After each shaming incident, I’m left sifting through the wreckage, filled with guilt:

• What if I’ve harmed them irreparably?
• What if they look back on their childhood and wonder how they survived it?
• What if they think they’re not good enough?
• What if they end up resenting me?
• What if they need therapy later because of me?

I’m slowly learning that my past doesn’t define who I am today. Brené says in Chapter 3 of Daring Greatly, “Own the story. Don’t bury it and let it fester or define you… If you own this story, you get to write the ending.”

So here I am, setting the stage for a new ending:

• Because I love my children, I will teach them to be strong and independent by living courageously and staying true to my beliefs.
• Because I love my children, I will inspire them to dream big and listen to their hearts by following my own passions.
• Because I love my children, I will show them how to build strong relationships by being open and vulnerable.
• Because I love my children, I will teach them the value of hard work by working alongside them and allowing failure to be a teacher.
• Because I love my children, I will practice gratitude daily and show them that abundance exists, rather than giving in to fear.
• Because I love my children, I will help them embrace their imperfections by sharing my own journey.
• Because I love my children, I will strive to be a better mom, treating them with respect and nurturing them with love—not shame.

I’m ready for the calm that follows the storm.

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In summary, I’m learning that while I’ve made mistakes in how I communicate with my kids, I can change my approach. By embracing my imperfections and fostering an environment of love and understanding, I can create a stronger bond with my children.