It was one of those days when my 4-year-old, Emma, seemed to cry endlessly. She wept the entire day before, and the one prior to that, too. There’s a solid reason for her emotional state: since starting school again, she’s been struggling with less sleep due to our earlier wake-up calls, and transitioning from a full day at home with me to part-time pre-kindergarten has been a big adjustment.
For a little one, this level of distress is completely understandable. Imagine an adult from a modern city being suddenly dropped into a remote jungle tribe with nothing but a sarcastic thumbs-up and a “Good luck!” from a departing helicopter. That’s what Emma is experiencing.
I can rationalize her struggles on an intellectual level, but that doesn’t make me a calm, collected parent. Just last night, when Emma labeled my perfectly normal dinner as “weird” and started wailing, I found myself at a loss. Other triggers for her tears over the past few days included her shorts feeling “funny,” a classmate touching her shoulder, and me asking her to move her cup away from the edge of the table.
Then came the ultimate meltdown at bedtime: Emma declared that we were now a co-sleeping family. The only times we’ve co-slept before were right after her birth, during a hotel stay, or camping. My husband, who already tosses and turns enough in his sleep, doesn’t need another little body joining the mix.
I had tried to be the understanding and supportive parent for three long days. Most of yesterday, I maintained a delicate sense of calm. I hugged her, soothed her, explained things, distracted her, and even sang lullabies. I took deep breaths, attempting to transfer my tranquility through my heartbeat.
But by the end of yesterday, after what felt like an eternity of being the “Best Mom Ever,” I hit my breaking point. Emma was screaming that she would never sleep in her own room again. I attempted gentle firmness: “It’s time for bed.” I offered empathy: “I understand it’s been a tough few days. How about I rub your back for a bit?” I even resorted to a stern tone: “Don’t speak to me like that, young lady!” Finally, I snapped: “I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! I’M LOSING MY MIND! I’M OUT OF HERE!”
My partner stayed with Emma as she continued to cry, while I stepped outside to walk in circles around the driveway. I needed to escape the noise. At that moment, I was either going to shout so loudly that I would traumatize my kids or I would throw something in frustration. So, I chose to walk away.
For a fleeting moment, I thought about picking up Emma’s nightstand and hurling it against the wall. I imagined the sound of glass shattering and the chaos that would follow. I pictured my innocent little girl, grappling with her own challenges, witnessing her mother lose control. I had lost all sympathy for her plight and didn’t even feel guilty about it. The only thing stopping me from acting out was the knowledge that I shouldn’t.
To those who might say, “It’s fine; your partner was there. She was supervised,” I would have left regardless of his presence. And unless one has dangerous items lying around, I would argue that stepping away when you’re at your wits’ end is acceptable. Maybe if my partner hadn’t been there, I would have just locked myself in the bathroom for a breather, or perhaps poured myself a generous glass of wine on the back porch.
I’m sharing this experience not to wallow in guilt, but to acknowledge that we all struggle sometimes. My initial response was to feel terrible for leaving Emma momentarily. However, I’m tired of feeling guilty about self-care. I firmly believe that stepping away, when faced with the choice between throwing furniture and taking a breather, is the right thing to do. These are the messy realities of parenting. Sometimes, you simply have to check out.
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Summary
Parenting can push us to our limits, and it’s essential to recognize when we need a break. A story about a mother who stepped away from her crying child highlights the importance of self-care and the reality that it’s okay to take a moment for ourselves.