I have not been kind to myself recently. I have been chastising myself for my failings as a mother – the usual thorny branches that we can whip ourselves with in this sensitive job role: impatience, raised voice, less then sympathetic reactions to my children’s demands.
I wish to be something I am not. I am fiery and passionate and despite my intentions and desires, my combo of conditioning and personality means sometimes (quite a lot actually) I’m scary mummy as well as lovely mummy.
I also, deep down, know this is the same for most mummies. The problem for me is that I read so many memes about gentle parenting, conscious parenting, wholesome parenting and they all talk about how important it is to be respectful to your children, to empathise, to speak kindly, otherwise we damage our children’s self esteem. True and also not realistic! Not for me.
This is how I roll….
Yesterday we went to a kids party in the middle of Richmond park. We had to drive to the car park and then walk down a hill for about 15 minute (kids pace). Within ten minutes of arriving my son had stepped into the pond up to his thighs…. Soaked. The weather is currently near freezing. The only option to avoid illness was to take my son back up the hill, car, home, change, car, walk and back to party. I was seriously annoyed. My son was crying, didn’t want to leave the party, was cold and wet and miserable. But I was annoyed. So my little boy cried his heart out whilst we walked back to the car and I went into self flagellation in my head because I was snappish and irritated instead of being compassionate.
But you know what…. I got there. On the drive home he told me how he absolutely had to go into the pond because there was a stick there that he needed. And he really needed it. And I heard that. And we talked about finding one of the (thousands) of sticks from the back of the car and taking that back with his new dry self so that he didn’t ‘need’ to go back into the pond again. And we laughed and had some rescue remedy and enjoyed the last part of the party.
And this is how I mother. I get there eventually. I might get mad, scream like a banshee, storm about, sulk and generally be a bit rubbish at times but I come back when I’m ready and we figure it out. And when I think about it I feel the same towards anyone else who does that too. They can be super mean to me but if they come back one day or twenty plus years later and try and figure it out, I’m going to hear that and welcome it. That feels more realistic to me.
So Happy Mother’s Day to all of us just figuring things out in the way that works.