My children’s early years were when I had the least patience and was the most prone to yelling at them. Loud and with intense feeling.

I’m taking a deep breath and wincing as I write this (and telling myself not to scrap it), but it’s true and I make it a policy to try to tell the truth as much as possible. I believe that the truth sets you free, but sometimes it’s painful first. But I don’t believe that it’s more painful than living with the lie, because that never ends.

The time in their lives, when they needed the most patience and understanding, was when I had the least, and reverted to parenting in ways I experienced as a child and swore I’d never do to my children. It was terrifying and I felt so much guilt and shame at not being able to keep my anger and frustration under control. It wasn’t every day, but more days than I like to admit and I wish I had been able to do things differently. Sometimes when it would happen, I’d feel separated from myself, like I was someone else, almost possessed, a mother who didn’t care how her tiny children felt or what they needed, and what my emotions and lack of control were doing to them,

I would carry that guilt and shame, which I now know just made it more likely that I’d “lose it” in the future. I’ve asked for forgiveness and forgiven myself because I was doing the best I could at the time (even when it didn’t look like it), but not the best I could ever do.

Now I can see that my past and the tendency toward competitive mothering in our culture was a toxic mix for me. Mothering in America is a competition and I was losing. This aspect created a gnawing feeling of uncertainty in my stomach, an extra layer of anxiety that seems to be present for nearly all of the American mothers I’ve ever met, that we aren’t doing it right, or at least we aren’t doing enough. The pressure of it is incredibly destructive and debilitating.

My anger and occasional desire to run away and leave my entire life (including my kids) behind felt like a soul-chewing secret. I adore my children, they are the most amazing beings I’ve ever met. How could I fail them so miserably? What kind of mother fantasizes about leaving their family? I’d wanted to and intentionally became a mother, what was wrong with me?!

To top it off, I knew becoming a mother would change my life, but I didn’t realize my identity would change in such a fundamental way, that for a long time, I couldn’t quite figure out who I was anymore. On top of becoming someone I didn’t recognize at home when I lost my shit, I noticed that I didn’t seem to be an individual anymore to other people. I became transportation for my kid(s) and was lucky to be greeted sometimes. I even lost my name in many cases and just became “Chance’s mom”, and later “Jordan’s mom”. I felt hurt and resentful about that, which felt awful too, because I love being their mom.

Now this is a serious cage. I want to be the best mother I can be and my kids deserve it. It’s my job to protect and preserve their spirits and bodies on this earth. But I’m also exhausted, overwhelmed, and not always sure of myself as a mother, especially when they were little. The pressure of trying to be the perfect mother by nurturing my children on all levels at all times, the competition instead of solidarity that often exists between mothers, and the negative ways I was parented all came together to create a cage that felt escape-proof.

The way out for me came in the form of therapy that I had started before they were born (marriage detouring in hell and childhood trauma), trying to find better tools and heal my wounds so I’d stop replaying them in my head and my house. It helped, but it didn’t work as fast as I hoped. Maybe that’s why I’m always trying to improve my skills and find what works best, fastest, and with the least amount of stress for my clients.

My therapist is very gifted and helped me to face and see my past and myself in a new way. I moved from being a victim to a survivor, then to a thriver. I am no longer defined by my childhood wounds or my mistakes. I also continued to develop the skills I needed to manage my emotions and my life. She helped me learn to see myself with self-compassion, which was critical for getting out of my parenting cage and allowing me to be the mother I wanted to be, as defined by me instead of some made-up standard.

Why bring any of this up? It’s my sincere hope that if you’re reading this and it resonates for you, you can start to break out of your cage and know there’s something better out there for you and your family.

I see you, trying so hard to be the woman and/or mother that you want to be, that you truly are. Don’t give up!