When Things Go Wrong
Just because of the nature of emotions and how the brain functions, it’s much easier to offer you advice when I am feeling good. When my mind is clear, I can access my accumulated knowledge on well-being and gracious living. It’s much harder to share when I F-ed up — when things go bad.
But I am committed to the practice of imperfect parenting — and to do that means not ‘acting’ perfect online either. And so I will be honest with you here.
I threw a massive Mom Tantrum this morning — my son started screaming from the backseat but would not tell me why. And when I slowed down the car and looked at him in the rearview mirror, he kept screaming and refused to say one word. This triggered me, and I slammed on the brake of the car, making the car bounce with fury, and screamed: “Are you hurt!! Do we need to pull over!! What is going on!!! You need to tell me right now!” — like uncomfortably loudly. Looking back, I know I did it to scare him into reacting because nothing else had worked, and I needed an answer as we were in the middle of the road.
Turns out he had a loose tooth that had taken a sharp turn on a bagel, and he was in excruciating pain 🤦♀️.
If you have baggage of any sort, Mom Tantrums will happen from time to time. And This morning sh%t got real.
I felt helpless and unseen and really out of control — although, at the time, I was feeling really in control, in control of my anger.
And my anger was valid, but the way I acted was not. The tantrum I threw. It was not ok. We are just out there living and trying to heal, and sh%t happens. We can do the work and get to a place of GoodAF; still, sh%t can happen. Do I feel extraordinarily bad right now? Yes. Do I also know that it’s just another day and moment in time and that I am ultimately OK, a good mom who makes mistakes? Yes, that too.
But no amount of good feelings will make the hurt go away - at first.
I had to feel it, but I tried so hard not to this morning.
After I dropped the kids off at school, I went for my walk - and the first 2 miles were ok, but by the 3rd mile, I could feel the emotion welling up with no place to go but out. I thought I had managed it by breathing it out and connecting in a kind way when I dropped my son off - but no, it was bigger than that.
So I drove home, and I sat down and cried. Like really cried. I allowed myself to acknowledge that what I did was wrong. I let myself get angry for all the valid reasons I should have been — I was driving and couldn’t see the problem, anyone else in the car could have jumped to help but they didn’t — and my son is hard when it comes to injuries. There have been so many times before where problems not this huge were portrayed to be. I was angry and needed to feel it.
I was also hurt. I didn’t want to yell and scream at my 11-year-old child. He was hurt. He was in pain, and I made him more afraid because I used fear to get him to respond. I don’t want to be that type of mother where my feelings matter more than his. And I take responsibility for that. There really isn’t a moment in life that constitutes a freakout where fear should be the parenting tactic. Getting mad and telling someone how you feel is important — but a Mom Tantrum like this, no.
But they happen — in fact, since I haven’t had one in over a year or two, actually made me feel worse — like everything I work on every day and everything I talk to you all about is for nothing. But in reality, that’s not true. Once I sat to feel my pain, I knew that I would be OK, I knew that I had made a mistake, but that mistake didn’t make me a Bad Mom. And it reminded me of the GoodAF Mom Pep Talk #5 on the podcast, where I remind you that: Moms make mistakes too.
And that’s what I said to myself: Moms make mistakes too. I will chalk this one up to bad circumstances and move on — of course, not until I make it right with my son this afternoon.
Once I calmed down, that’s when I listed a bunch of things to be grateful for - the house was empty when I came home, so I could wail freely. I had an extra hour today because of afterschool classes so this self-care time wouldn’t cut into my working hours. And I had my kids and my life. And the next time they freaked out, I could point to my own freak out and said — me too. I get it. Life’s hard, buddy. Me too. - Stef
