This is a true story shared by my friend, whom I’ll refer to as Lisa. At 31 years old, Lisa is happily married and has three daughters, all aged 4 and under. This tale recounts a day when everything spiraled out of control.
“Mom, I want orange juice!”
It was just another hectic morning. The remnants of last night’s dinner piled up in the sink, the baby was wailing, and the toddler had just sent her breakfast crashing to the floor.
“Ugh. Not again,” Lisa muttered, exasperated.
She bent down and gently used her fingertips to scoop the still-warm scrambled eggs back onto the paper plate.
“Nooooo!” her toddler shrieked, kicking her legs in frustration. “I want thooooooose!”
Inside, Lisa felt a hot sensation rising in her chest, a simmering fire that threatened to blaze.
“Mommy, can you get me a fork?” her preschooler piped up.
“Not right now. Just a moment.”
“Oh no, I just spilled my milk!”
And with that, the fire within her intensified.
Breathe deep.
The crying, whining, and constant demands were relentless, like lighter fluid being poured onto a growing flame inside her.
After breakfast, it was time to get dressed. Lisa asked her toddler to put on her red skirt. Instead, tears flowed, dramatics erupted, and a lengthy debate about various clothing options ensued—the green shorts, pink jeans, and frilly skirt. With each new suggestion, the fire blazed hotter.
Eventually, Lisa couldn’t even talk about the outfit anymore. She felt defeated, got up, and walked away, leaving her daughter crying behind her.
Next, she turned to her preschooler, who had sensory issues and despised having her hair brushed. As usual, the hair brushing prompted tears, feeding the simmering lava inside Lisa’s chest.
“I need to get away. I’m going to lose it,” she thought.
Lisa placed the baby in her crib, retreated to her room, and closed the door. Looking in the mirror, she realized it was 10 a.m., and she hadn’t brushed her teeth, changed out of her pajamas, or even had breakfast.
She sat down on the toilet to take a moment for herself when suddenly, a loud banging on the door interrupted her peace.
“Mommyyyyyyyyyy!”
Her preschooler barged in, crying over a broken Doc McStuffins toy. Still seated, Lisa quickly fixed it for her.
“Please go out of my room now,” she said, her voice rising with tension.
Her daughter left, but moments later, she returned, sobbing about the toy again.
The fire inside Lisa was reaching its breaking point.
“I can’t fix it anymore. Please leave my room!” she snapped, her emotions spilling over.
The door swung open again. “Mom, it’s still not…,” the toddler began.
“Get out now!”
In an explosive moment, all her frustration erupted. The fire inside her that had been slowly building now raged uncontrollably. She screamed, unleashing all the pent-up resentment from the morning’s chaos—the broken toy, the hair brushing, the spilled food.
Her heart raced as she let out a torrent of emotions, but the target of her outburst was her innocent 4-year-old—the very same child she had lovingly raised and cherished.
In a fit of rage, Lisa grabbed the broken toy, stormed into her daughters’ room, and threw it on the floor. “I am not fixing that toy again!”
Then, she hoisted her 4-year-old onto the bed and commanded, “Stay in your bed and don’t get up!”
The same went for her 2-year-old.
Shaking, Lisa retreated to her room, slammed the door, and collapsed to the floor, unable to hear the baby crying. She sobbed uncontrollably, burying her head in her hands as the room spun around her.
After a few moments, she steadied herself enough to send a message to her husband: “Things are bad. I need you to come home.”
In the days that followed, Lisa sought help. She reached out to her midwife and therapist, asking her husband not to leave her alone with the kids. Prescribed Zoloft, she experienced a wave of emotions, but gradually, she began to feel better.
Reflecting on that frightening day, Lisa confided, “I still don’t know what overtook me. What I did was wrong and terrifying. When you reach that level of rage, it feels uncontrollable. I completely understand how some mothers can snap. The constant demands of motherhood can push you to a breaking point.”
Three months later, while we sat on the floor of her daughter’s bedroom, Lisa shared her story with me. “Nobody talks about this, but we’ve all felt that fire inside. It’s serious.”
If you find yourself overwhelmed, don’t hesitate to reach out for help. You’re not alone in this journey of motherhood.
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Summary:
Lisa’s story is a powerful reminder of the challenges faced by mothers, especially those with multiple young children. The pressures and demands can lead to overwhelming moments, as illustrated by her experience of rage and frustration. It’s crucial to recognize when you’re reaching your limits and to seek help when needed. Remember, you’re not alone in your struggles, and there are resources available to support you.