I found myself at a café in our local community center, seated with my 5-year-old daughter, Mia. We were enjoying a mix of playful learning—writing, drawing, and reading together. I caught a glimpse of a woman nearby who was watching us with a warm smile, clearly thinking I was a fantastic mom.
What she didn’t see was the chaos that unfolded just an hour earlier. My two younger sons, Jake and Leo, were in a heated argument over a toy. Mia was in a panic about paint on her hands that wouldn’t wash off, while Leo was clambering onto a step stool, causing all sorts of noise and chaos. I had hoped they’d sort it out, but my patience was stretched thin.
Usually, I pride myself on being a calm and guiding presence, ready to turn misbehavior into teachable moments. However, that morning, even after two cups of coffee, I felt utterly drained. I sat quietly, applying mascara, hoping for a miracle. But instead, I lost my cool and yelled at Mia to stop whining and acting like a baby. I shoved a shirt on her and insisted she was going to school, despite our plan to homeschool. In my frustration, I even tossed a stroller across the room.
My 2-year-old Leo approached me, trying to remind me of our deep breathing exercises, but I ignored him and stormed to my bedroom, slamming doors as I went. I let out a roar of frustration, momentarily relieving my anger but feeling the weight of my actions afterward.
When I returned to the living room, Mia pointed out my yelling. “What about you?” she asked, and her words hit me hard. I took a breath and admitted, “We both have work to do.” The look in her eyes was one of hurt, and it broke my heart.
We ended up cuddled under a blanket, acknowledging our feelings. I told her we needed to love ourselves better, and we shared affirmations of being wonderful just as we are. I recognized that being a mom is tough; it’s a constant battle of patience and sacrifice. But we also need to remind ourselves that it’s okay to struggle.
After our heartfelt moment, we headed to the community center. This time, I was present, asking her open-ended questions and genuinely engaging with her. We looked like the perfect family, but I knew better. I strive to treat my kids with respect and empower them, yet I still stumble. It’s hard to admit, but I do lose it sometimes.
As I sat there, I felt uneasy about how the woman saw me—part of me felt like a fraud. But we’re all multifaceted. I recently came across a quote by Walt Whitman: “I’m as bad as the worst, but thank God, I’m as good as the best.” It reminded me that I can embrace both sides of myself.
Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what others think of me; my worth isn’t defined by anyone else. I have the power to decide who I am in every moment.
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In summary, I am a loving, dedicated mom who sometimes struggles. I have moments of frustration, but I also have moments of joy and connection with my kids. Perfection isn’t the goal; being present and loving is what truly matters.