To the mom I saw melting down at the library this morning …

I know you’ve probably been carrying the weight of a heavy season. I know that sometimes our kids seem unreasonable. I know we cannot always acquiesce. I know your needs matter too. I know this week is full, routines are off, and the breaks from any care assistance you receive leave you feeling even more stretched. I know we live in a society that has already left you high and dry with the responsibility for caring for your family without the resources of true community.

I know it seems like your child was on your last nerve. That’s what we say at least, isn’t it? When really we should probably say something more accurate like, “I’m down to my last nerve.” Most adults working with or raising kids these days have somewhat of a collective goal around teaching our kids emotional literacy, so really let’s start here. The child isn’t the problem. The completely depleted parent is.

Believe me, I’ve had more than my fair share of these ugly moments. I speak from a place of personal experience; and these are experiences that hold shame for me. Some of these experiences I’m still processing. I’m not trying to shame you. My guess is you are feeling some shame and guilt already without any outside forces, side eyes, or tsk-tsks from well-meaning strangers at the library.

I came into motherhood with undiagnosed neurodivergence and without any family support within an arm’s reach. I had no idea how to feed myself lunch, let alone organize a schedule of activities or prep a diaper bag with snacks and water bottles. I was pretty consistently in a state of meltdown while I had two toddlers relying on me for their every need. I didn’t have another adult around to jump in to say, let me help show you how to do this. Babysitters were out of the budget, my partner was working long hours at a new job, I had no friends in a new hometown, and any other family was hours away. I have many moments that I’d like to rewrite. I don’t get that chance now.

The best I can do is keep moving forward while holding the past with some reverence, grace, and vulnerability. I continue talking to my kids about those times as we are still processing together those rougher moments. I can explain to them that I am sorry and I was wrong. I can continue to prioritize my mental health and regulation so that we don’t fall back into unhealthy relationship patterns. I push back on the systems who continue to perpetuate the idea that parents - moms in particular - should carry the responsibility of raising children all on their own. I work supporting parents and educators who are trying to do this huge task of learning emotional literacy as adults. All this is to say, I have an incredible amount of grace and understanding to offer you… and also, I really hope you can remember:

Your child is smaller than you. I know it’s easy to grab their arm and tell them they are acting inappropriately. I know carrying your child out while they demand to walk is a common sight among frustrated parents. We have normalized it to the point that we almost see nothing wrong with it. Most people don’t even bat an eye when they see a tired parent hauling out a kid kicking and screaming. All I could see in that moment though was a parent who needed a moment for regulation and a child who was being treated the same as our Chicago neighbors recently dragged off by thugs who call themselves government officials.

What I wish for you and your child now is that you get to your car or arrive safely home and can share a great big breath and a bear hug. I hope you can apologize because, actually, only one of you was acting inappropriately, and it was not your child.

I hope you can ask your child how they think you could’ve done differently and supported their needs more. I’d love if you could also share with your child the sensations you were feeling physically and emotionally in that moment. Together you can start to create a common language of care and respect. I wish for you the ability to reassess priorities and needs so that you may avoid future moments of dual overwhelm. I hope that you can apologize, take accountability, and offer your child grace and understanding as our children seem to have an abundance of grace for us.

I wish that you can see your child as a full human worthy of respect even when you’re on your last nerve. I wish that this awareness lives so big in your heart that you can find that breath before the meltdown next time.

Above all, I wish you peace. You are deserving of it. Because the one major thing I’ve realized through my own meltdowns and moments of agitation: Peace on Earth starts at home.