On July 9, 2017, I lost. my. shit. on one of my 5-year-olds. It wasn’t just a momentary lapse. It was a solid hour of us screaming at each other. A grown adult, having an hour-long screaming match with a 5-year-old. And I was going to win. As I watched him lose the will to fight back, I had a flash of the future. I saw him going through life angry and broken and feeling unloved, with no soft place to fall. I saw myself slowly killing his spirit one day at a time until there was nothing left. I felt sick, watching him huddled on the floor, sobbing, unable to look at me. I did that. I did that to my child, the person I wanted more than anything in the world, the person I prayed for and cried over and worried about and adored.
Part of this happened in public. There were witnesses. No one intervened. No one said, “Hey, mama, take a breath” or “What the hell is going on here” or “Ma’am, you’re under arrest.” No one even seemed to notice that I was screaming the spirit out of my child. Maybe if I’d hit him? I’m not sure that even would have done it. No one cared that I was destroying my son—including me. He had to learn. He had to respect me. He had to cut that shit out right now. I had to teach him.
But I wasn’t teaching him. I was gutting him.
I could tell you all the things that created a situation where I was vulnerable to verbally eviscerating a small child, but it will just sound like excuses. There is no excuse. The way I treated my child was inexcusable. Deplorable. Reprehensible. Disgusting.
And somehow, at 5 years old and completely terrified of me, he had the wherewithal to tell me that. When the yelling stopped and we both sat there on the floor of his room, shaking and snotty with tears tracking down our faces, he looked me right in the eye. “Mommy,” he said, his voice trembling, “that was not okay.”
“You’re right.” I could barely meet his eyes. I was so ashamed I literally wanted to die. In that split second, I contemplated what might be the quickest and cleanest way to kill myself—to protect my children from me. I couldn’t come up with anything. I was completely blank. “That was absolutely not okay. No one should ever, ever treat you like that. Not Mommy, not Daddy, not anyone.”
“That,” he said, taking a big, shaky breath, “can never happen again.”
We were quiet for a few long moments. I wasn’t sure what to say. In the silence, it became clear to me that I couldn’t kill myself and make this go away. He would think it was his fault, and it would be an easy out for me. That couldn’t be an option. I had to do better. I had to show him he was worth fighting FOR not fighting against. I had to show him what real love looks like, to give him back his safe place and never take it away again, to build him up and never tear him down. I had to do it. “It will never happen again,” I finally said. “I promise.”
“I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you anymore,” he said.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t trust me either. And you don’t have to believe me or trust me. I’ll show you that it will never happen again and you can believe what you see, not what I say.”
He studied my face for what felt like an eternity. Then, he nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I said.
We sat there for a few more minutes and hugged for a long time. Then we went downstairs and ate dinner. I tucked him in that night like nothing had happened, but everything was different. He felt it, too. We were both shellshocked, and it took a few days for it to stop feeling like the air was sucked out of every room I walked into.
Posts in the No-Yelling Series
I Decided to Stop Yelling for 100 Days & Here’s What Happened
This is a series of posts chronicling what happened when I stopped yelling at my 5-year-old twins — or anyone else, for that matter — for 100 consecutive days. Each article in the series will be updated with additional links as I add more posts.
- Part 1: The Meltdown (current article)
- Part 2: The Plan
- Part 3: How Did We Get Here?
Wow. You are brave to say it out loud. Thank you for your blog
You’re welcome. Thank you for saying that. It’s not easy to lay bare all our faults. But it sure is powerful! I appreciate your reading and commenting. <3
This is so recognizable for me. And now my four year old has started yelling when he’s frustrated. Not even at anyone, just yelling. I feel miserable. It HAS to change. Thank you. I needed this today.
You’re so welcome. You can do this. 💗💗💗
Thank you for your honesty. I have reached my breaking point after 2 years of completing renovations on our house, selling it, starting a new job, moving my family of 3 away from friends across province with a reluctant spouse, finding a rental in a zero vacancy town, switching daycares, moving into a new office environment, interviewing for another new job with more responsibility, purchasing vacant land to build a house, dealing with preschool having difficulties with my 5 year old boy, and now designing and planning a house build. Navigating all this alongside a spouse with 24/7 chronic nerve back pain. We have found it difficult to make friends so far and we ‘gave’ up for lack of energy. I get that it has been too much with too little support for our family and for me. Your posts made me realize that I need to refocus, try to reach out again with better follow up, and get out of my recent slide into yelling at the little boy I wanted so badly for 10 yrs. I have had the worst mom ever moments of disgrace, disgust and self loathing. I am so glad I stumbled upon your post. I will be making a plan and sharing it with my family and will renew trying to make connections with other moms to build a tribe in our new town.Your honesty about your journey resonated with me. Thank you.
I’m glad you found this post too! It sounds like an overwhelming couple of years. No wonder you’re struggling! You are human. You know what you need to do. I want to remind you to be kind to yourself. We all fall down. It’s the getting up that counts. Hugs.