So Sunday was one of those days. Wednesday was one of those days. Joshua has stopped napping rather abruptly but still desperately needs to nap based on his behavior and because of this no-more-napping, those days are happening more often than I’d like to admit. Except I just admitted that and admitting that is half the battle, right?
Or something like that.
The thing about those days is that when I’m in the middle of being the kind of Mom I never want to be–the kind of mom who uses a tone so harsh she frightens her child–I know I’m doing it and it’s like I can’t stop myself. Which is where the self-hate comes from.
I’m an adult. I should know better. I should act better.
He’s just a child. He deserves better than that.
But I can’t seem to break myself away from the moment long enough to gather my thoughts and collect myself. There is no escape. There is no getting away from it long enough to cool off. Because Joshua can follow me wherever I go and he does. Into the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Whining or crying and being indecisive and more whining.
I yell at him. I show my anger. I see fear in his face. And then I scoop him up and apologize while kissing him and crying, my tears mingling with his, and the whole time I’m wondering how I’m damaging him. What kind of issues he’s going to have some day because mama kept losing her mind.
I don’t want his early memories of me to be these memories.
I don’t want him to know me like this.
Most of all, I just don’t want him to hate me.