“I’m counting to five.”

“No, you’re not! Stop counting NOW!”

Clearly, my kid and I were both struggling with
our emotions. She felt overwhelmed and out of control. She’s not one to be intimated and will fire back with all she has. I wanted compliance and used the counting method out of anger.

Being screamed at is a trigger for me. I know this. Sometimes I can walk away. Take that much-needed, critical break to regroup.

I have an amazing kid. Sometimes I’m a really horrible mother. Like today, when I screamed at her for screaming at me. Oh yeah, getting someone to stop screaming by screaming louder than them isn’t an effective strategy. She was being extremely defiant and my patience was nil. It was an unnecessary power struggle that left me feeling overwhelmed and ashamed. I wouldn’t tolerate anyone treating her like I had.

Then I realized the window just a few feet away from her bathroom was wide open. An upstairs window, next door to the neighbor with his patio door open, 2 doors down from the family of 5 who I never hear yelling. Gut-wrenching shame that not only did my daughter experience my catastrophic meltdown, but also witnesses that I will encounter frequently. I’m sure they’re not taking up a collection to get me the Mother of the Year award.

After ‘winning’ the battle of teeth brushing, at the extreme cost of our dignity and with obvious trauma to our relationship, my 7 year old retreated to her room and I to mine. A few minutes had passed when I knocked on her door and was granted permission to enter. I sat at her bedside and asked her if she wanted to talk. “No, thank you” was her quiet reply. Nodding with understanding, I assured her we would talk later and left, requiring her to retrieve her own Clarees stuffy from downstairs. I was still angry and wanted to set her clear on the boundaries and rules of our home.

A couple of more minutes was all it took for the guilt to wash over me. The realization that I was failing as a mother, as her teacher, as a human. A flood of tears rushed forth. I made my way to my precious’ room, knocking softly and hoping for access. She graciously let me in, allowing me to snuggle under her blanket, wrapped up in her warmth, spooning in silence for a moment.

My apologies were abundant. I took responsibility for the individual ways I had made the wrong choices, for causing her sadness. Grateful that she wasn’t scared, but conscious and burdened with the sadness I inflicted on her. I asked her to turn and look at me, which she did without hesitation. She hadn’t responded to my apologies yet, but as she saw the tears streaming across my face she comforted me.

Her encouragement to be okay, that she was near me so it was okay. That she was “happy about you”, my puzzled expression prompting her to continue “for all the nice things you do for me”. Her gift of focusing on the positive, of understanding that I and everyone makes mistakes, and being able to choose to move beyond it so quickly, all combined to remind me yet again what a blessing it is to know her. What a responsibility it is to do better for her.

I keep failing. I continue to have good intentions and crappy execution. I cannot fathom forgiving myself for being so much less than she deserves. What in the world am I doing? How much damage am I doing, despite the nice things I do, what scars am I inflicting on her innocence? It’s not okay. It’s not. If I don’t do something to get myself help I’m not going to get better.

I have the tomorrow-I-will syndrome. There isn’t a tomorrow. Today is what counts. I screwed up today. Again. And the day is only half over. It’s probable that I will mess up a few more times. I’ll get a few things right, too. I’m okay with crying in front of my daughter, but only to a point. Sobbing uncontrollably is scary. A lot of the time being an adult is scary. And so is being a kid. I’ll keep trying to do more nice things while attempting to shift my reactionary behavior to align with the peaceful spirit inside of me.

On a side, yet relevant note, although it’s uncomfortable to be exposed to other people’s drama, something as simple as an “It must be hard to deal with all that” comment or a kind smile means so much. Anger comes from fear which comes from pain. It’s a vicious cycle that only love and kindness can heal. Try to remember that we’re all struggling.

Feeling alone, isolated from support, is draining. Reaching out for support can seem impossible. My demons are becoming more apparent all the time. More accurately, I’m losing the ability to excuse them. I want to feel better. I’ve done my share of suffering and I sure as hell don’t want to keep making the ones I love suffer, too.