As the New Year arrived in 2015, I chose not to make resolutions but rather to strive for self-improvement. One vital area I aimed to enhance was my role as a mother. I’ve grappled with feelings of shame regarding the way I communicate with my children. While I believe I do a decent job teaching them essential values such as hard work and social manners, I often find my less-than-patient side surfacing more frequently than I’d like to admit.
When my kids fail to follow through on daily requests—like brushing their teeth, making their beds, or putting away their backpacks—I lose my cool. You know the drill: “Did you brush your teeth? Is your bed made? Hang up your backpack. Clean your dishes.” Sound familiar? It’s exhausting, and I suspect they might be as tired of my reminders as I am of repeating them. In my mind, I rationalize my outbursts by thinking, “I asked nicely three times; they deserve my frustration.” But why do I keep pressing the issue, hoping for different outcomes?
The reality is that what I’m doing isn’t parenting; it’s shaming. Deep down, I know that’s not the mother I aspire to be. I want to create a nurturing environment filled with laughter, love, and understanding. I long to build strong connections with my children, ones that remain unscathed by minor missteps. Yet, I fear that my reactions may be driving a wedge between us.
Parenting isn’t about shaming my kids into compliance; it’s about loving them unconditionally. As I’ve confronted my insecurities, I’ve discovered that many of us inadvertently replicate the patterns of our own upbringing. Brené Brown poignantly describes this cycle in her book, Daring Greatly, emphasizing our tendency to excel at shame when we struggle with vulnerability.
In my writing, I can be open and vulnerable, but as a parent, I feel the pressure to appear competent and in control. I worry about letting my kids see my imperfections. My real mistake isn’t in striving for perfection; it’s in failing to demonstrate that it’s okay to be flawed. When my children stumble, I mistakenly take it as a reflection of my own failures, leading to a cycle of shame that overshadows any valuable lessons we could learn together.
After every incident, I’m left with a heap of guilt. I wonder: What if I’ve scarred them for life? What if they look back on their childhood with resentment? What if they believe they aren’t enough? What if they end up disliking me or needing therapy to cope?
Slowly but surely, I’m understanding that my past doesn’t define me. Brené’s words resonate: “Own the story. Don’t bury it and let it fester or define me.” So, here I am, committed to rewriting my narrative:
- Because I love my children, I will model strength and independence through courageous actions that reflect my beliefs.
- Because I love my children, I will inspire them to dream boldly by living authentically.
- Because I love my children, I will foster meaningful relationships by embracing vulnerability.
- Because I love my children, I will teach the value of hard work by working alongside them and allowing room for mistakes.
- Because I love my children, I will cultivate an attitude of abundance through daily gratitude.
- Because I love my children, I will celebrate imperfections by sharing my authentic journey.
- Because I love my children, I will be a better mom by 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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Summary
This article reflects on the author’s journey to improve her communication and parenting style, acknowledging past mistakes while committing to a more loving and understanding approach with her children, emphasizing the importance of vulnerability and authentic connections.