When a Mother Hits Her Breaking Point

Parenting

self insemination kit

This is a genuine account from my friend, whom I’ll refer to as Lisa. At 31, she’s happily married with three daughters, all under the age of 4. This narrative captures a day when chaos reigned supreme.

“Mom, I want orange juice!”

It was just another typical morning. The remnants of last night’s dinner cluttered the sink, the baby was wailing, and the toddler had just sent her breakfast crashing to the floor.

“Not again,” Lisa muttered under her breath.

She bent down and gingerly gathered the still-warm scrambled eggs from the linoleum floor, returning them to a paper plate.

“Noooo!” her toddler shrieked, kicking her legs in frustration. “I want thooooooose!”

Inside Lisa, a familiar heat began to rise—a simmering fire that threatened to spiral out of control.

“Mommy, can you get me a fork?” her preschooler piped up.

“Not right now. Just a moment,” Lisa replied, hoping for a moment of peace.

“Oh no, I just spilled my milk!”

The heat intensified, creeping up her chest.

Deep breaths.

The cacophony of crying, whining, and constant requests felt overwhelming. With every whiny plea, it was as if her children were dousing her inner flames with lighter fluid, fueling a blaze that was silently raging.

After breakfast, it was time to get dressed. Lisa asked her toddler to wear her red skirt, but tears and theatrics ensued, leading to 13 long minutes of negotiations about outfit choices—the green shorts, the pink jeans, the frilly skirt. Each suggestion only made the fire burn hotter. It was becoming unmanageable.

Eventually, Lisa couldn’t bear to discuss outfits any longer. She stood up and walked away silently, leaving her daughter in tears.

Next, she turned to her 4-year-old, who had sensory sensitivities and detested having her hair brushed. After a few moments of familiar crying, Lisa could feel the simmering lava inside her chest swell. It was reaching a boiling point.

“I need to get to my room before I lose it,” she thought.

Lisa placed the baby in her crib and retreated to her own space, shutting the door behind her. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It was only 10 a.m., and she had yet to brush her teeth, change from her pajamas, eat breakfast, or even go to the bathroom since waking.

Then, a loud banging on the door interrupted her brief moment of calm.

“Mommyyyyyyyyy!”

Her preschooler rushed in, tears streaming down her face. The plastic piece of her beloved Doc McStuffins toy had come off, and now it wouldn’t work. Still perched on the toilet, Lisa hastily reassembled the toy.

“Please, step out of my room now,” Lisa said, her voice sharper than she intended.

Her daughter exited, but as Lisa stood up, she noticed the preschooler had returned. Anxiety gripped her. The fire inside was now ablaze.

“Mom, it broke again,” the toddler cried.

“It’s beyond my ability to fix it. Please leave my room,” Lisa’s tone escalated into a desperate yell. How could she express her need for solitude?

The fire was dangerously close to erupting.

The door opened once more.

“Mom, it’s still not…”

“Get out now!”

The flames erupted from her mouth in a furious stream of frustration. The toy, the hair brushing, the spilled eggs—it all came pouring out in a chaotic eruption. Lisa’s heart raced as she unleashed her pent-up emotions in a torrent of anger.

But her target was a 4-year-old girl—the same child she had nurtured and adored. The conflicting feelings were unbearable.

In a moment of rage, Lisa took the broken toy and hurled it onto the floor. “I am not fixing that toy again!”

Then, with trembling hands, she tossed her preschooler onto her bed, followed by her toddler. “Stay in your bed and do not move!”

Shaken, Lisa retreated to her room, slammed the door, and crumbled into a ball on the floor. She couldn’t even hear the baby’s cries anymore. Overwhelmed with emotion, she sobbed uncontrollably, burying her face in her hands.

After a few moments of chaos, she managed to steady her hands enough to type a quick message to her husband, “Things are bad. I need you to come home.”

In the days that followed, Lisa sought support. She reached out to her midwife and therapist and requested that her husband not leave her alone with their children. She was prescribed medication, and although the initial days were filled with tears, she gradually began to feel a sense of relief.

Reflecting on that day, Lisa conveyed her feelings to me three months later. “I still can’t explain what overwhelmed me that day. My reaction was absolutely unacceptable. When rage takes over, it’s a terrifying experience. I can understand how some mothers reach their breaking points, and it’s truly frightening.”

To this day, Lisa isn’t sure if the incident stemmed from hormones, a chemical imbalance, or perhaps something else, as she’s currently being assessed for ADHD. Despite having a history of anxiety, she usually manages her daily life well.

However, there are moments when the demands of raising three young children become so exasperating that it feels as though everything might collapse. That particular morning, the typical frustrations culminated into an uncontrollable blaze of emotion.

“I couldn’t escape. As a stay-at-home mom, there was nowhere to go,” she recalled.

As Lisa’s friend, I can tell you that she’s generally easygoing and approachable. She has a wonderful sense of humor and is patient with her kids. Yet, like many of us, she has fears and frustrations lurking beneath the surface. I share this story because it’s important to be honest about our experiences. At some point in motherhood, we all feel that fire inside.

You don’t have to go through it alone. Acknowledge your feelings, seek help, and remember, you’re not alone in this journey. For more insights on navigating motherhood, check out this blog post on home insemination.

Summary

This heartfelt account illustrates the overwhelming challenges of motherhood, particularly the breaking point many moms reach under pressure. Lisa’s experience serves as a reminder that it’s vital to seek help and acknowledge one’s feelings. No mother is alone in facing these struggles.