Believe me, I was once all that too. Then, in a few years’ time, reality served.
Too many moments, I found myself doing things that I am too ashamed to admit or raising my voice, saying THE MOST awful things that any good mothers would disapprove of.
“Shut up and do it because I am your mother!” “Stop it or I will make you regrets this.”
It was as if I was this third party, seeing this terrible parent who couldn’t control herself whenever she was being challenged. I rolled my eyes at myself and got insanely livid and disgusted for being me.
At times, my urge to control or just to make a stupid point pushes me back into being a juvenile. Perhaps, I am desperate to put my child in the role of an adult. And for what? To compensate my desire to have made all the wrong things right? Or am I trying to avoid confronting my improbable fear as my children approach the age when I lost that only chance to grow up in a proper family. I don’t know and it frustrates me even further.
I find it especially hard to analyze battles nowadays; which are the ones to fight, and which are the ones to walk away from. And I just take them all up. Gone were the days when it was just discipline, now being in control is often just the beginning of the path that propels me to issue more threats, let out more screams, and dish out more punishments. These have been emotionally crippling me. Regardless of winning or losing the battles, it made me feel like a complete failure, because I know very well that I had absolutely crossed that line. I had morbidly transformed into the bad mom that I swore I would never become.
I really don’t need someone to point that out to me because I know it better. And you have no idea how much that guilt is killing me.
Maybe I shouldn't be too bothered if my children are healthy, well-behaved or if they will perform well in school. Or worry if they will grow up righteous and successful. Perhaps I should simply conform, be like the millions of moms out there; just throw my kids some damn Ipad or gadgets and just get on with life, the easier way out. Or had I just leave my kids to my helper or let myself to heard from time to time, I might have prevented all these menaces. I don't know what's right any more. My intent which started out looking quite noble had took on such an ugly turn.
Being nine months pregnant and giving birth to my children don’t automatically grant me the know-how to be someone’s mom. And more so, when the balance of being firm and overbearing becomes blurred with the juggling of multiple roles that I wasn’t trained or prepared myself for. And I definitely didn't have the mommy’s qualities bestowed upon me when my children came along. The more I tried to be perfect, the more I struggled.
You probably think that I am looking for excuses for being who I have become, but you are not me, you have not walked a mile in my shoes.
So, I hugged my daughter who was lying stiffly in her bed. I cried and I apologized for screwing our life up. There was some hesitance it was almost like she was contemplating my motives because I always get mad when I find them not sleeping. Then suddenly, she threw her arms around me and sobbed, saying, “It’s OK, Mommy. It’s OK, really. I still love you…”
And this bad mom was forgiven. The uncompromising love, innocence and the magnanimousness of a child that will put any grown-up to shame.