To my dear child,
Because you’re making me mental and I don’t have a freaking clue HOW on earth to deal with you.
Because you keep sucking the blood from my veins as though I have an infinite supply stashed in my big toe on reserve just for you.
Because some days, though I love you, I want to march you back to that hospital room and demand a refund (plus a fee) for all the angst that comes from raising you.
Because I have moments when I’m ready to walk out the door and join the circus.
Does that answer your question darling? Does this give you a small idea of why Mommy is angry? They said having kids would change your life – they said nothing would ever be the same. What they didn’t say was that your child would push to a place of pure agony.
Fortunately for you (and for me), I do love you. Deeply. So much so that I would throw myself off a cliff for you. That’s the irony.
You make me crazy but I can’t image my life without you. And all emotions aside, I want nothing more than to be the best Mommy in the world for you.
But then those days pounce on me from the darkness and my ugliest self appears. My rage is crawling on the edge of every word, motion, sound and choice that I might make in any given moment.
But don’t worry darling – I don’t like myself then either. I don’t expect you to.
But darling, please understand this.
When I tell you I need to walk away, I’m not saying I don’t love you. When I close and lock my bedroom door so I can scream into my pillow, I’m not saying I don’t want you in my life. When I throw on my runners and can’t find it in me to invite you along, I’m not saying I don’t value your company.
And when I start yelling at you and behaving as though I’m 13 again, I’m not even pretending to have my shit together. I’m being real. I’m being human. I’m being my messed-up and sometimes childish self. Because I can only feel. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe. I just feel overwhelming emotion that brings me back to my broken humanness. And this, my darling, has nothing to do with you.
So I will pick myself up again and do whatever I need to step out of this place of misery. I will filter my emotions and try to learn how to be better next time. And I will communicate to you (as best as I can) why I’m failing at this moment as your mom.
But know this. I will disappoint you. I will let you down. And darling, my oozing imperfection: while it may hurt you, may it teach you that being real is not being perfect. That falling apart is a necessary part of growing. That doing whatever it takes to move through those waves of hardship is worth every ounce of heartache that comes with it.
I am imperfect but my love for you is beyond perfect.
That, my darling, is enough.