I’m not immune to it: The frustrations. The anxieties of parenting. My faith in God isn’t a miracle drug that wards off any negativity. Well… Actually… I’m wrong. It is a miracle pill that prevents and cures these feelings.
I choose not to take it.
When I’m frustrated at the world or other adults, I become impatient, on edge, quick to reprimand rather than listen. The horseplay and constant loudness- you know… Those things siblings do to infuse a solid bond in their relationship- become unbearable.
Even when things are seemingly good, there are times when the anxiety creeps in. For instance, one child gets moody and mean when I try to soften his frustration with a joke. Usually, space is the best solution. Then we talk a few hours or a day later. I know he wants me to know that his thoughts, feelings, and concerns are serious. I know he doesn’t like to be “made fun of ” even if in an endearing way. (Most boys would think laughing about their outrageous farts was funny). He sees it as an attack on him. I apologize, show empathy, and do better next time. But in the moment, I feel like a shitty mom when I accidentally offend my child.
I get drained: Low to no energy. But I know it’s essential that they continue to have opportunities for exercise through play. So I muster every last bit of energy to go to the skating rink, to a friend’s house to swim, or a bike ride around the neighborhood.
I get cloudy. I can’t see my dreams or what I’m working so hard for. I think, what’s the point of all this? Yet to think this way is… Well… Asinine.
I am extremely blessed. My kids are going to be okay! Even if I bum around the house for a day, they’ll still go to college. Even if I fix a smoothie and popcorn for dinner, they’ll still fall in love someday. These trivial concerns are privileges. What the hell am I worried about?
I am a good mom with loving children. Take the pill… The miracle drug… Give these cares to God. I don’t need them.