I’m Not A Terrible Mom

It was 7:30 AM when my daughter approached me, concern etched on her little face. “What’s wrong, Mommy? You okay?” The reason for her worry? I was sprawled on the living room floor, sobbing into my fifth cup of coffee. At 7:30 in the morning, while many were just starting their day, I felt like I was already done.

“Mommy’s just sad, sweetheart,” I replied.

“Why sad, Mom?” she asked, patting my back with a tenderness I could barely muster.

“I’m sad because my coffee is all gone,” I told her, masking my true feelings. What I really thought was, “I’m sad because I can’t do this motherhood thing anymore. I’m a horrible parent. I mess everything up. I don’t think I can make it through another day—let alone the rest of my life. This is terrible. I’m terrible.”

Dramatic? Absolutely.

True? Probably not.

But in that moment, it felt achingly real. I had a whole list of reasons to support my belief.

I was crying in front of my kids.

Not exactly a confidence booster.

I had already yelled at my son approximately 81 times

that morning because he just couldn’t resist climbing onto the dining room table.

I had lost count of how many times I said, “Stop hitting your brother,”

feeling like I was moments away from transforming my home into a scene from Lord of the Flies.

My kids often eat picnic-style in front of Curious George instead of at the dining table

because I was just too worn out to fight that battle.

I frequently hide in the bathroom for five minutes,

desperately wishing for a moment of peace and clicking my heels three times in hopes I’d magically be whisked away to a better place.

My kids don’t eat enough veggies.

They consume too much junk food.

They watch way too much TV.

I have no clue how to discipline them effectively.

I struggle to think of fun activities for my toddlers.

I pray my son will go back to sleep when he wakes up at the crack of dawn.

I’m convinced I’m ruining them.

That morning, I was certain I was the worst mother in the world. But later that evening, while vacuuming up what felt like an entire box of Cheerios, I had a moment of clarity.

I’m not a bad mom.

I’m just normal.

Once I stopped drowning in tears and guilt, memories of blog posts, stories from friends, and books I’d read (before my kids turned them into confetti) came flooding back. I remembered:

Other moms yell at their kids sometimes.
Other moms lie awake at night, guilt-ridden.
Other moms serve cereal for dinner and call it a win.
Other moms have messy homes and sticky kitchen floors.
Other moms sneak into closets for a moment of solitude.
Other moms struggle to entertain their toddlers.
Other moms wish their kids would sleep in.

If all these women—friends and strangers—are facing the same challenges, then maybe it’s not just me. If we’re all struggling, then…I’m not a bad parent. I’m just like everyone else.

And honestly, that realization was a huge relief.

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Summary:

In a candid reflection, a mother shares her struggles with parenting, revealing the moments of self-doubt and guilt we all face. Through her journey, she realizes that she is not alone in her challenges, and that her feelings are a normal part of motherhood. Embracing this understanding brings her relief and a sense of community with other mothers navigating similar paths.