“Guys, I just want you to know that when I get mad, it’s my fault, not yours.”
My seven-year-old nods once without looking up as I walk toward his bed.
“I know, Mom; It’s okay.” My nine-year-old says without hesitation from his side of the room.
“No buddy, it’s not. I shouldn’t have blamed you guys for your little brother’s tantrum—it wasn’t your fault. He was over-tired and so am I.”
My seven-year-old’s head remains glued to his book. This is the third time today I am apologizing for losing my patience, yelling or blaming them for something they were not responsible for. He, I assume, is over this routine.
“Am I a bad boy?” he asks quietly without looking up.
I fight the impulse to slump onto the floor and cover my face. I want to say the perfect words to undo whatever led to his question, but I know I can’t.
I take a deep breath and tuck the covers around him. “No honey, you are not bad. Please don’t ever believe that.”
I think about how many times I have asked God the same question: Am I bad? But maybe the question behind this question is: Am I still lovable?
I linger at his bedside, recalling our interactions from earlier in the day. It isn’t hard to understand why he internalized my outward stress.
“I am really sorry I made you feel bad, buddy. I was having a hard time, but it’s not your fault. Will you forgive me?”
He nods, and I wrap him in a hug, but I wonder, were my words convincing enough? Does he know how loved he is?
My husband travels for work and is gone one-to-two weeks out of the month. Sometimes we get lucky and his trips last only a few days. Last fall, however, he traveled four weeks in a row.
I coped well at first, and aside from some extra screentime for my boys, our routine carried on as usual. But at some point, during the second week of solo parenting, I reached my limit. I could not mediate one more sibling argument, calmly redirect another tantrum from my two-year-old, or face another mess.
I became overwhelmed by all the expectations, feelings and needs in front of me, and simultaneously got irritated by the smallest of issues.
“Why would you wear that shirt—it’s freezing out?”
“Can’t you just give your brother the Lego to keep him happy?”
“Guys, how many times do I have to ask you to put your clothes away?”
At one point, I stood in my boys’ bedroom explaining [lecturing] that if they would just listen better [do exactly what I say, when I say it] everything would be easier, and “I wouldn’t get mad.” I took the stress I was feeling and heaped it onto their little shoulders.
“Okay, Mom; I‘m sorry,” my oldest said, almost automatically. But not my middle son. He was silent, his hands and jaw clenched.
I know I messed up, and fear tells me it’s too late to make it right—that my apologies won’t fix anything.
But I pray for the words to apologize, again.
Sometimes I am just like my seven-year-old son—staring at the floor, fighting back tears and condemnation, as God leans toward me and shakes his head.
Thankfully, God is not shaking his head at me because He is out of patience from solo parenting. He shakes his head because I am wrong about myself—just like my seven-year-old was wrong about himself.
We are not bad when we have a hard time.
We are not bad when we say or do the wrong thing.
We are not bad when we find ourselves apologizing again and again.
We are loved by a God who has no limits on his patience, energy or mercy. And when we are tempted to give up, he wants us to. He wants us to take whatever we feel overwhelmed by and give it up to him. He wants us to tell him (and our children) that we cannot hold our stress alone—we need help. God promises to hear our prayers and meet us in our need.
Maybe I will always feel a prick of shame when I apologize to my sons. I would rather not make the mistakes that require forgiveness in the first place. But I know God uses my mistakes as opportunities to humble me and to encourage my children to forgive.
And I am learning that asking for forgiveness makes room for God in the conversation and allows him to heal what we so easily break.
You, Lord, are forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you. Psalm 86.5
WANT TO FEEL EQUIPPED TO BE THE BEST MOM YOU CAN BE?
JOIN THE MOMCO FOR COMMUNITY, EMPOWERMENT, AND MORE.