I yelled at my child this morning. Really loudly. So loudly not only did I startle him, I startled myself. I lost my cool over something incredibly benign and foolish; brushing his teeth. See, he needs help to “get the tops” and I had already asked him three times to get into the bathroom, four times to get himself started, and now two times to open up so I could help him reach the tops.
This is after I asked him three times what he wanted for breakfast, reminded him four times to eat said breakfast, asked him two times to get dressed, prompted him three times to help me help him get dressed, shrugged off comments about how “I was doing it wrong” or that “I hurt his skin” while taking off his pjs. And after inquiring about his skin and asking two times if he was okay, worrying I actually hurt him he replied with a big grin “I am pretending my pjs are my skin and you just took off my skin so it hurts…”
So by the time we got to the bathroom to brush teeth, my sanity was hanging on by an invisible thread. And much to my surprise, and my son’s, that thread snapped. I am talking I screamed from the depths of my depleted synapses and exhausted neurons. I yelled from my angry adult, overworked, utterly over-it, too many tabs open in my brain, guilty, anxious, weary, sad mom persona. The very side of me I try to shield him from.
For an instant I was not my typical put on a brave face, put together, remembering everything and everyone, lunch is packed, snack is there, masks ready, dinner is planned, karate is scheduled, play dates on the books and planned, fun activities ready to go, house is clean, dogs are fed, laundry done, movies queued up, cookies made, zoom class visits scheduled, student appointments virtual and in person, schedule around construction in basement, powerpoints and presentations done, email confirmations sent, training attended, two part time jobs equaling more than one full time job, alternating schedules, dinner is planned for the nights I am on campus, research in progress, learning strategies written, names remembered, empathetic and active listening, problem solving, referrals to disability services, check-in on loved ones, send that birthday card, write the thank yous, get the dry cleaning, groceries, more snacks, watch the news, stay informed, look up information about housing and medicaid, do good, be kind, call back my friend, respond to that text, be happy, smile, organize the class readers, check two work emails, check personal email, buy a treat for son’s teacher, upload those photos from two months ago, shovel the porch, plan husband’s bday, shit… this is one hell of a run-on.
As I let out that 2 second guttural shriek, my son’s eyes grew wide, his lips quivered and he began to cry. Queue instantaneous guilt, the type of guilt you feel in the depths of your soul. So, I set that superhero toothbrush next to the adorable shark cup and walked out of the bathroom. I fought the urge to say all the expletives at the top of my lungs while sprinting out the door in shame and instead took a deep breath and steadied myself.
I then asked him “Do you know why Mommy just acted that way, why I am upset?”
“Because I wasn’t brushing my teeth.”
To him it was that simple, and that was heartbreaking. To think he believes I would get so upset about brushing teeth? I melted. His innocence and matter-of-fact assessment of the situation sent a bolt through me.
Why did I even ask him that question? Did I expect him to say something to the effect of “because you have been telling me all morning to get my shit together when you can’t even get your shit together and instead of acting like a reasonable adult, you blew a gasket trying to shove a toothbrush in my mouth like a mad woman?”
Thank goodness he didn’t say that. Thank goodness he doesn’t have a keen understanding of my stress and anxiety. Thank goodness I recognize all this.
We had a conversation then about feelings. Mostly about the feeling of being overwhelmed, feeling unheard, unsafe, unsupported, frustrated or nervous. We talked about how sometimes that comes out at really bad times when it shouldn’t. We then concluded that it is important to get it out and ask for help if needed, so it doesn’t come out in a terribly ugly loud yell.
I told him that my asking him to do basic things like eating, getting dressed or brushing his teeth on his own is a way of me asking for help so I can do some of the things I need to do for myself. He told me that sometimes he needs help getting dressed or brushing his teeth so he will do better at asking instead of avoiding it. We hugged. We said we’d do better tomorrow.
Tomorrow we will do better.
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