The Day I Lost My Cool with My Child

home insemination Kit

It was just another chaotic morning, trying to get my older kids ready for school. Between making breakfast, wrapping up homework, and packing lunches, it felt like a race against time. We had recently returned from a family trip to visit my husband’s relatives in Scotland, and I was still feeling the effects of jetlag. With my husband away on work, I felt overwhelmed and cranky. I had a million excuses to lean on.

Our youngest, who had just turned four, had been under the weather with an ear infection. The pharmacy had forgotten to flavor his medicine, making it a struggle to get him to take his antibiotic. I tried everything—bribing, pleading, and coaxing—but after an hour filled with tears, he finally swallowed the yogurt-strawberry mix. Today was supposed to be his first day back at Pre-K after two weeks off.

As the clock ticked away, I realized I had just 30 minutes before my conference call. We headed to his room to get him dressed. He had recently started wearing a uniform, but the excitement had worn off. As I laid out his shirt, he immediately burst into tears. “I don’t want to wear this shirt, Mommy,” he wailed, fists clenched. I tried to stay calm and explained that everyone in his class had to wear the same one, blaming the teacher for good measure. But reasoning fell on deaf ears, and every time I approached him to help put on the shirt, he flailed and thrashed.

After what felt like forever, I glanced at the clock. Time was running out. In a moment of desperation, I tried to hold him down between my legs to get the shirt over his head. He arched back, and his head hit my nose. And just like that, I snapped. In that instant of pain and shock, I smacked him squarely on the back. The sound echoed in the room, and his big brown eyes met mine, filled with confusion and hurt. He started to cry, and I felt a mix of disbelief and shame wash over me.

I managed to get the shirt on him and hurried him into the car, all the while attempting to justify my actions. “I’m sorry, buddy, but Mommy is late for work. If I don’t go to work, I’ll be in trouble. Do you want Mommy to get in trouble?” Not only had I broken his trust, but I was also making him feel responsible for my anger.

By the time we reached school, he had calmed down. We walked quietly to his classroom, and as his little fingers intertwined with mine, it struck me—what had I done? I felt my heart drop.

I made it back to the car before breaking down in tears. What kind of person was I? Would he ever see me the same way again? Should I skip work to spend the day making it up to him? But I knew that wasn’t an option. I had crossed a line. As a parent, I was supposed to protect him, not hurt him.

When my husband called to check in, I couldn’t bring myself to share what had happened. I was too ashamed. What kind of mother would hit her child? It was a mistake that no number of apologies could erase. I’m not a violent person; this isn’t who I am or how I should behave.

Later that day, when I picked him up from school, he was on the playground, happily sliding down a plastic slide. He spotted me and ran over, jumping into my arms. In that moment, I felt both elation and deep guilt. There’s no way to rationalize what had happened.

I understand now that losing your cool is part of parenting. With three kids, I’ve faced numerous similar situations without resorting to violence. Parenting is a series of choices, and on that day, I made the wrong one—one that I’ll never completely forgive myself for.

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Summary

A mother’s chaotic morning spirals into a moment of regret when she loses her temper with her young son, leading her to reflect on the challenges of parenting and the mistakes we sometimes make. Despite the guilt that lingers, she learns the importance of understanding and forgiveness.