Sometimes, parenting seems effortless. In those serene moments, I feel like I’m nailing motherhood. We glide through days without a hitch, and I almost forget the challenging times—the moments I lost my patience, the times I felt I needed to apologize, and the nights I went to bed feeling heavy-hearted. During the calm stretches, I find myself puzzled when other moms speak of “failure.” Are they just making simple dinners and allowing cartoons to babysit? What could possibly be so grave as to earn that label? But then, without warning, I’m slapped back to reality.
Like Today
My little one woke up in a whiny mood, speaking in that high-pitched voice that was reminiscent of a certain cartoon character, and everything seemed to be a problem. As I always do, I snuggled up beside him, showering him with morning affection. The beauty of being a stay-at-home mom! When he asked if I wanted to play a pretend gunfight, I was more than game. But somehow, I didn’t execute it quite right. I didn’t crouch low enough, and my sound effects were off. No matter how hard I tried, he kept complaining. Feeling exasperated, I decided it was time to step away, grab my coffee, and salvage my dignity.
Throughout the day, I attempted to balance acknowledging his feelings while keeping my distance. It’s a delicate dance—letting him express himself without letting his mood drag me down. I offered extra hugs and tried to stay unaffected by his struggles. But as the hours passed, I felt myself starting to unravel.
By mid-afternoon, his whining had reached new heights. After a day of encouraging him to express himself appropriately, I found myself yelling, “All you do is whine! I’m fed up!” I had set out to be a calm and collected parent, but I was losing my grip. To make matters worse, he called me “rude.” I was exhausted by the constant demands, including his insistence on going to the store for a My Little Pony coloring book, which he wanted “right now!”
While loading the dishwasher, I let the chaos inside me take over. I slammed it shut, shattering a glass in the process. I could hear the crash behind me as I stepped outside, exclaiming, “I need a break!” Naturally, he burst into tears, reaching for me and crying, “Noooo!” I rushed back inside to clean up the mess, but I was still seething and snapped at him to stay out of the kitchen due to the broken glass. He innocently questioned, “What broken glass?”
Frustrated, I shook the bag with the shards and grumbled, “This! This broken glass!” He went back to the living room and asked for a hug, a simple reminder that I still loved him. But in that moment, I couldn’t muster the warmth he needed. I told him, “Not right now,” and my tone was far from gentle. I had the chance to pause, to embrace him and regain my composure, but I didn’t. Did I want him to feel bad? Or was I simply succumbing to the chaotic side of myself?
That angry, irrational part of me emerged—the same one that had surfaced during those overwhelming postpartum days. Choosing to let her take control is a conscious decision I make, despite knowing I could push her away and calm the situation. In those heated moments, I often crave the fleeting satisfaction of expressing my frustration. But afterwards, I’m left feeling a deep sense of shame—like a user coming down from a high, feeling regretful and broken.
Today, I felt ashamed for not being the patient mom my son deserves—the one who navigates the boundaries with grace, remains in control, and extends love when it’s most needed. I was also frustrated with myself for modeling poor behavior. My children are always watching and learning from me, and the thought of them growing up to express anger through destructive actions is disheartening. I imagined them in therapy recounting stories of their “crazy mother.”
But Wait, There Was More
Still reeling from my dishwasher incident, I tried to force my son to eat a yogurt. He was still fixated on that coloring book, and I snapped, “I’m not going anywhere until you eat that yogurt!” I was tired of the endless cycle of serving meals only to hear complaints about hunger moments later. Those yogurts cost a pretty penny, and in my frustration, I pushed him to eat. I felt wrong for raising my voice, but I persisted until I saw him dragging himself to the table in compliance. From a distance, I felt a wave of guilt wash over me.
I scooped him up and cradled him like a baby, apologizing for my earlier behavior. His sweet response, “It’s OK. I’m sorry I had a tough day too,” shattered my heart like the glass I had broken earlier. We talked about the importance of love and forgiveness within our family.
We needed to get outside, so I put him in the baby carrier on my back. I craved that closeness so much that I would have gladly placed him back in my womb for comfort. Instead, I wrapped him tightly against me, and as the rain fell, he whispered, “I love you” in my ear.
Now that he’s tucked in bed, I’m slowly letting go of the weight on my heart. Mistakes are part of the journey, but how we respond to them is what truly matters. My children need to understand this more than they need a flawless mother. Even in revealing my imperfections, I can teach them that mistakes are opportunities for growth. I only truly failed today if I didn’t learn from the experience.
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Summary
Motherhood is filled with challenges and moments of imperfection. While I may not be a perfect mom, I can learn from my mistakes and teach my children that it’s okay to struggle. Responding with love and understanding is what truly matters.