Wanna know the one aspect of parenting in which I’ve become an expert? Apologizing.
I’m ashamed to admit it but I scolded—scratch that, I flat out yelled at—my daughter last night after she deliberately disobeyed me when I asked her not to do something. It wasn’t anything big. She didn’t harm herself or anyone else. She didn’t break anything or cause damage that couldn’t be reversed. She didn’t make a mess or lose anything of value. And yet for whatever reason I still felt the need to reprimand her. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. One minute I was fine and the next I was in a mood. There’s no rhyme or reason for it, it was just another manic Wednesday during a sorta quarantine within a sorta pandemic.
Sadly, this has become a bit of a pattern lately. The monotony of the day kicks in, my children become stir-crazy and clingy, I start feeling overwhelmed with life, my emotions get the better of me, and I lash out. Then my kids get upset and start crying, and the guilt and self-deprecation over the way I react to and handle these situations erase me into a puddle of nothingness. And then I silently punish myself for the remainder of the day, and night.
My husband understands and sympathizes, of course. In fact, he took the reins last night so that I could have a moment’s peace. I’ve lost count of the number of times my husband’s told me that he doesn’t know how I mother all day long and still find the time to get everything else done. It makes me laugh because most of the time I’m holding on by a damn thread. I certainly don’t deserve any medals, and no one would ever mistake me for momma of the year. I will say this for myself, though: I try. I do. I wake up every single day—sometimes earlier than the birds, mind you—and give every fiber of my being to my kids, many times to the detriment of my own mental health. That’s what it means to be a momma.
But being a momma also means acknowledging that I’m only human and that I don’t have all the answers here either. It means having the courage to admit when I’m wrong and being humble enough to say I’m sorry. I did apologize to my daughter. I took her in my arms, told her I was sorry for yelling at her, and explained why I snapped. I promised to be more compassionate, more attentive, and less quick to anger. But I also asked her for something, too: that she (and her partner in crime) agree to be better listeners when mommy and daddy speak. She happily conceded and accepted my apology with a hug.
I still feel terrible about how last night played out, but there’s no use dwelling on it. Instead, I’m going to accept it for what it was: a learning experience. I want my daughter to understand how important it is to admit your failures and mistakes. I want her to know that saying you’re sorry isn’t about weakness, but strength. And I want her to realize that one of the greatest gifts you can give to someone you love is forgiveness.
as always well spoken, we have all been there. these little people dont come with instructions so we do the best we can. your a great mom just like your mom. xoxo Shelley