Updated: May 31, 2018
Originally Published: June 15, 2015
The moment I came to the realization that my child was “that child” was a pivotal experience in my journey as a mom. It marked the beginning of feelings of embarrassment regarding my daughter and her actions. I found myself questioning if there was something wrong with her—or perhaps something about me, the one who brought her into this world and is responsible for nurturing her into a good person.
It all unfolded on a seemingly ordinary day. We were hosting a playdate at our home with friends we’ve known for ages. My five-year-old daughter and her four-year-old buddy were racing around the couch, playing tag. When my daughter, designated as “it,” failed to catch her friend, she crumpled to the floor, sulking and on the verge of tears, shouting, “I can’t catch you! You have to slow down! You have to! I won’t play anymore if you don’t!” As I observed her, sighing as I often do in these situations, I glanced at her friend, who is usually cheerful and accommodating. That was the moment it hit me. A realization that had been brewing in my mind and heart for months was now undeniable: My child is not easy to like.
This behavior wasn’t just a one-time occurrence; it was a consistent pattern. Whether she is with her siblings, friends, or alone, at home or out in public, my daughter often takes on the role of the bossy one. She demands attention and makes scenes, like the time she cried incessantly in a store because I wouldn’t buy her a gymnastics leotard (and we don’t even do gymnastics!). She’s quick to throw tantrums, much like the ones I thought were exclusive to toddlers. Rude, moody, and overly focused on her possessions, she struggles to share and insists on doing things her way. If things don’t go her way, watch out. She can be quite the manipulator, often only thinking of herself and expressing her feelings bluntly. I dislike labeling, but let’s be honest: she is spirited, strong-willed, and, yes, a bit of a brat. Every outing with her feels like navigating a minefield, as I never know what might trigger her.
This creates a unique challenge for a mom like me, who is a self-professed people-pleaser. While I strive to stand my ground, I take pride in being kind, thoughtful, and accommodating. I want to bring joy to others and find it frustrating that my child does not share that inclination. I was told things would improve as she transitioned out of toddlerhood, but nope—not in our case. She simply screams louder and uses more elaborate language now. Throughout her life, she has exhibited these traits, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. Watching her alongside her peers only emphasizes how different my independent, determined diva is; she’s the epitome of a difficult child. I want to embrace and love her for who she is without comparing her to others, yet I can’t help but wish she had a touch of the sweetness and ease that other kids seem to possess.
So, to anyone who encounters my delightful, wild-eyed challenge, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t find her likable. I often struggle to like her myself. Despite being her mother and loving her fiercely, I recognize her potential and strengths. I see how she tries to make her baby brother laugh, how gently she interacts with our small dog, and how she can confidently walk into a room full of strangers, while other children cling to their parents. I cherish the moments when she whispers “I love you, Mia,” to her little sister or introduces herself to strangers in a coffee shop, asking, “Will you be my friend?” Those are the moments that warm my heart.
But for you? You might only have a fleeting minute, an hour, or a morning with her. If you’re lucky, you’ll witness her charm. If not, you might find yourself dealing with her sharp comments, mediating her demands for toys, or trying to block out her cries, wishing you were anywhere but there. I’m sorry. I’m genuinely doing my best.
I must believe she is, too. On particularly good days, I catch her biting her tongue to refrain from saying something I wouldn’t approve of, which gives me a glimmer of hope that one day she will grow into a person of remarkable character—exactly as I strive to raise her to be. Perhaps, somewhere in the distance, there will come a day when the thought of a playdate doesn’t fill me with dread.
In the meantime, don’t hesitate to encourage your kids to stand up to her. To assert themselves over the toy she’s currently commandeering. To win the games she’s eager to dominate. I would even secretly cheer if they gave her a gentle kick to the shin. Seriously. Let them discover their own inner brats. My daughter needs friends (and goodness knows I worry she won’t have any if she continues this way), but she also needs some friendly competition to knock her down a peg or two. My attempts at guidance—whether gentle reminders, stern reprimands, or pleading—have fallen short. Perhaps a dose of peer pressure will do her some good. A mom can hope, right?
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Summary
The author reflects on the challenges of parenting a spirited child who can be difficult to like. Despite her daughter’s strong will and demanding nature, the author recognizes her potential and the loving moments they share. The piece captures the struggles of navigating social situations while hoping for improvements in her child’s behavior, all while maintaining a sense of humor.