This morning, I completely lost it.
After getting the kids ready for school—dressed, breakfasted, teeth brushed, and backpacks packed—I switched on the TV. I have a strict rule: they can only watch certain channels. There’s so much junk on TV these days—shows aimed at teens and preteens that glorify rude behavior and disrespect. Honestly, I struggle enough to keep my kids in line without exposing them to those kinds of influences. So, the rule is simple: Mom chooses the channel, and changing it without permission is a no-go. But Annabelle, my eight-year-old, never adheres to this rule. The moment I step out of the room, she grabs the remote to hunt for some obnoxious show featuring snarky teens.
Sure enough, within thirty seconds of me tuning in to Nick Jr.—mainly for Finn—she was flipping channels. “Leave the TV alone, Annabelle,” I said, but I left the room. A few minutes later, as I headed to the kitchen, I caught her again, remote in hand, channel surfing. That’s when I snapped.
What followed was a torrent of yelling and swearing. “I’VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES TO LEAVE THE TV ALONE!!” I shouted. “GO TO YOUR ROOM! SIT THERE UNTIL SCHOOL TIME. NOW!” She just stood there, frozen. “GO!” I screamed, and suddenly, all the kids were still as I chased Annabelle to her room. She beat me by a breath and locked the door. Locked it! “I’m going to lose it!” I muttered. “MOM! Are you really going to lose it over Annabelle? Did you really just say that?!” Daisy shrieked. “OPEN THIS GODDAMN DOOR!” I yelled, and she eventually unlocked it. “Don’t you ever lock me out again! Do you hear me?!” I continued.
Michael tried to calm me, but I snapped, “Leave me alone! I do EVERYTHING for you people—INCLUDING YOU!—and you all treat me like garbage! Every last one of you!”
I know, it sounds ridiculous—losing my cool over an eight-year-old changing the channel. But it’s really not just that. It was the culmination of Annabelle’s defiance, Finn throwing tantrums over breakfast, and Joey’s dramatic meltdown when I denied him an Instagram account (he’s only ten!). It’s the constant bickering, the relentless “I want, I want, I want,” and their unwillingness to follow even the simplest requests, like setting the dinner table or cleaning their rooms. You’d think I was asking them to pull out their own fingernails! It’s compounded by Michael being away so often, leaving me feeling like I’m navigating this chaos alone.
I’m not justifying my meltdown this morning. I’m embarrassed. I wish I could hold it together better. And let me be clear: I know kids are just kids, and their behavior isn’t a personal affront.
But some days, motherhood feels like a giant, fat “screw you.” That’s why people claim that motherhood is an incredibly tough gig. It’s not necessarily that it requires more intellect or physical stamina—though it does require those things, too. It’s about the emotional toll. It’s about the thanklessness. I feel like I’ve sacrificed so much of myself for them, only to receive complaints that it’s not enough—or worse, to be outright ignored. I’m not even seeking praise or recognition; just a little cooperation and respect for rules that aren’t unreasonable.
It’s tough to admit these feelings. Everyone talks about the joys of motherhood, how fulfilling it is. Sometimes it is—but often it’s not. I guess I’m writing this to reach out, to connect, and to share the not-so-pretty sides of parenting.
After I dropped the kids off at school this morning, I realized Annabelle had forgotten her lunch at home. Guess who packed up Finn and the baby to drive it to school? That’s right—because that’s what moms do.
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In summary, motherhood is filled with emotional challenges, sacrifices, and moments of frustration, but it also brings invaluable experiences and lessons.