I’ll never forget the last time I lost my cool. My kids and I had just rolled in from school when I snapped, “Head to your rooms!” My voice was sharp and unrecognizable. “Now!”
The response? A chorus of tears and timid protests. In that moment, I found myself shouting, “I don’t want to hear it! Don’t even look at me. Just go!”
You might think I’m a heartless monster from this tale, but let me clarify: I’m genuinely a nice person. If you saw me in a crowd, I’d be the one smiling and letting you cut in line. I’ve always disliked conflict, especially with my kids. My typical approach is to let small annoyances slide.
Yet, this strategy comes with a hidden price. The frustration and anger I choose to suppress in the name of peace don’t just vanish; they linger. They build up like steam in a pressure cooker, fueled by the endless bickering, whining, and yes, the Play-Doh that mysteriously gets embedded in the carpet. Eventually, I reach a breaking point, and that’s when I transform into “Angry, Mean Mama.”
That particular day, the morning had already spiraled out of control, with my two daughters arguing so much that they nearly missed the bus. On the drive home, our fleeting calm was shattered when my oldest did something to irritate her sister, leading to a shriek that could rival a parrot on caffeine. My headache flared, and I thought, enough is enough.
After my outburst, I paced the kitchen, waiting for my partner, Jake, to arrive from work. The moment he stepped in, I declared, “I can’t handle them right now.” With that, I grabbed my car keys and drove aimlessly around town, finally parking in a lot where I sat with the engine running. I was fuming, flipping the radio on and off, tears welling in my eyes. But as the sky darkened, my breathing steadied and the weight in my chest began to lift. Eventually, I made my way home.
Upon entering the kitchen, my daughters dashed toward me, arms wide open, offering hugs and apologies, along with a card that read, “Dear Mama, we’re sorry we were naughty.”
In that moment, all remnants of Angry, Mean Mama dissipated. I apologized for my outburst and explained how their fighting affected me. I reminded them that even though they love each other, their actions can hurt feelings. We discussed the importance of respecting each other’s emotions and space. They promised to improve, and I felt hopeful—at least for a little while.
Do I think it would be better to express my frustrations regularly, rather than letting them simmer until I explode? Absolutely. I’m working on it. But I also understand that there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to the emotional rollercoaster of motherhood. Each day, we navigate the delicate balance between maintaining harmony and preserving our sanity.
I once believed there were moms out there who had everything perfectly organized, effortlessly teaching their kids discipline without ever losing their composure. Now, I realize that a mom who is always calm and composed is as mythical as unicorns or a partner who never leaves socks on the floor—she simply doesn’t exist.
Whether your meltdowns happen daily or just a few times a year, take comfort in knowing you’re not alone. Those outbursts can sometimes be necessary, clearing the air and helping us breathe again. They also serve as reminders to our children that we’re not perfect, and that adults face intense feelings just like they do. If we’re open to it, the aftermath of a meltdown can be a valuable opportunity to reconnect and reaffirm our family’s values of respect and kindness.
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In summary, it’s perfectly fine to experience moments of frustration as a mom. It’s all part of the journey, and those meltdowns can lead to growth and understanding—for both you and your children.