Updated: April 19, 2016
Originally Published: April 19, 2016
This is a heartfelt story from my friend, whom I’ll refer to as Lisa. At 31, she’s happily married and has three daughters, all aged 4 and younger. This recounts a day when chaos reigned supreme.
“Mom, I want orange juice!”
It was just another typical morning for Lisa. The dishes from last night’s dinner were piled high in the sink, the baby was wailing, and the toddler had just sent her breakfast crashing to the floor.
“Ugh. Not again,” Lisa muttered under her breath.
She bent down and scooped the still-warm scrambled eggs off the linoleum, returning them to the paper plate.
“Nooooo!” her toddler screamed, thrashing her legs against the floor. “I want thooooooose!”
Lisa felt a familiar heat rising in her chest—a fire threatening to consume her.
“Mommy, can you get me a fork?” her preschooler chimed in.
“Not right now. Just hang on, okay?”
“Oh no, I just dropped my milk!”
The heat intensified.
Breathe deep.
The cries, the whining, the constant demands—they seemed unending. Each whiny request felt like lighter fluid poured onto the flame that was growing inside her, quietly but surely.
After breakfast, it was time to get dressed. Lisa asked her toddler to wear her red skirt, but that led to tears, dramatics, and 13 minutes of negotiations over outfit choices—green shorts, pink jeans, or the frilly skirt. With each suggestion, the fire inside her flared hotter and hotter. It felt as though things were spiraling out of control.
Eventually, Lisa couldn’t even discuss clothing anymore. She simply stood up and walked away, leaving her daughter in tears.
Next, she turned to her preschooler, a 4-year-old with sensory sensitivities who despised having her hair brushed. Just like every other morning, Lisa brushed her hair, and just like every other morning, her daughter sobbed for several minutes afterward.
Again, that molten feeling simmered in her chest—a thick, heavy fire that continued to grow. Soon, it was going to overwhelm her.
“I need to go to my room. I’m going to lose it.”
Lisa placed the baby in her crib, retreated to her room, and shut the door. Looking in the mirror, she realized it was only 10 a.m., and she had yet to brush her teeth, change out of her pajamas, eat breakfast, or even go to the bathroom since waking up.
She sat down on the toilet, and then there was banging on the door.
“Mommyyyyyyyyyy!”
Her preschooler burst in sobbing. The plastic piece of her Doc McStuffins toy had broken again, making it unusable. Sitting on the toilet, Lisa quickly fixed it for her.
“Please go out of my room now,” she said, her voice rising, her tone sharper than before.
Her daughter exited. Just as Lisa stood up, she caught sight of her preschooler again. The fire inside her had reached a boiling point.
“Mom, it broke again,” the toddler yelled through her tears.
It’s coming.
“I can’t fix it anymore! Please leave my room!” Lisa shouted, desperation creeping into her voice. Please, just leave me alone, she thought.
The fire was about to erupt.
The door swung shut, then opened again.
“Mom, it’s still not…”
“Get out now!”
The flames of her frustration erupted. All the pent-up rage, the frustrations of the broken toy, the hair brushing, and the spilled eggs exploded forth. It was overwhelming.
Lisa’s heart raced as she unleashed a barrage of words that hit like a machine gun—nonstop and relentless. But the target was her little girl—the same one she had nurtured for nine months, who loved to snuggle and share butterfly kisses. This sweet child became the unintended target of her uncontrolled outburst.
In a moment fueled by frustration, Lisa grabbed the broken toy and hurled it onto the floor. “I am not fixing that stupid toy again!”
Then, she picked up her 4-year-old and tossed her onto the bed. “Stay in your bed and do not get up!”
She did the same with her 2-year-old. “Stay in your bed and do not get up!”
Shaking and distraught, Lisa retreated to her room, slammed the door, and curled into a ball on the floor. She was beyond hearing the baby’s cries. The tears flowed freely as she buried her head in her hands, shaking with emotion.
After a few moments, she managed to steady herself enough to reach for her phone and sent 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, contacted her therapist, and asked her husband to stay close while she navigated this challenging time. She was prescribed Zoloft and began taking it. Initially, she felt a wave of sadness that felt unbearable. But after five days, she noticed a shift—she was starting to feel better.
“I still don’t understand what happened that day. I know what I did was not okay and it was so wrong,” she shared with me during a conversation in her daughter’s room a few months later.
“It was terrifying and chaotic. When you reach that level of rage, it becomes uncontrollable. I can completely understand how some mothers might do something drastic in those moments. All your buttons are pushed, and the noise, the demands, and the chaos can erode your sanity. At that point, anything seems possible, and it’s frightening.”
To this day, Lisa remains uncertain whether it was hormones, a chemical imbalance, or something else entirely. She has a history of anxiety and has faced panic attacks previously, but for the most part, she has been able to manage her life like anyone else.
However, mothering three young kids can sometimes feel overwhelmingly tedious and frustrating, as if her world is collapsing. That dreadful morning, the typical stressors compounded into a monstrous fire of rage that she could no longer contain.
“I couldn’t escape. As a stay-at-home mom with three little ones, there was nowhere to go,” she reflected.
As a friend of Lisa’s, I can tell you this: she’s gentle, down-to-earth, and often self-deprecating. She admits her faults with a sense of humor and generally appears patient with her children.
But beneath that calm exterior lies a tumult of fears and frustrations. I’m sharing Lisa’s story because it’s real. We’ve all been there, in different ways.
At some point in motherhood, we’ve all felt that fire within us. We may not have yelled at our kids or lost control, but we’ve all experienced that simmering rage. It’s serious, and you don’t have to endure it alone.
Take a moment to pause. Acknowledge your feelings. Seek help if you need to. Remember, you’re not alone in this journey. For those looking for additional support, check out this excellent resource on infertility resources or consider reputable products for at-home insemination like those available at BabyMaker.
In case you’re interested in more discussions like this, you can explore our other posts, including this one for additional insights.
Summary
Lisa’s story highlights the intense pressures of motherhood, particularly when managing multiple young children. It serves as a reminder that mothers can feel overwhelmed and that seeking help is crucial. By sharing her experience, Lisa opens up a conversation about the emotional challenges many parents face and emphasizes the importance of self-care and acknowledging one’s feelings.
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