So what you’re saying is… I’m a shitty mom?

People of the internet, I have had a long day.

It started with the text message at 6:38am that said “I got in an accident, I’m ok.” Instantly I was on the phone wanting to know what happened, how bad is the damage to the car, was anyone hurt, etc. I was reassured that everyone was fine, and the only damage was to his car… and it was bad enough that it needed to be towed, gotta go, bye.

Being the bossy know-it-all bitch that I am, I started texting instructions: Tell me where the accident is so I can look up close by service stations for you. Find out if towing and a rental car are covered on your insurance policy. Make sure to get the other driver’s (all three of them in this 4 car pileup) information. Call your work. Take pictures of the car. Get the stuff out of it you need and ride with the tow truck driver and I’ll pick you up.

It probably sounds more like a mother texting her teenager, not me texting my fiancé. You wouldn’t be wrong, and that is part of what has made this such an emotionally exhausting day. After all of that, I didn’t hear from him in a while and started getting agitated. I wanted to know what was happening so I could start planning for the next steps.. control freak.

When I finally got him on the phone he told me the police called a tow to some obscure lot 2 towns south of us and that he needed to be picked up from a gas station in another place entirely.

What the fuck? Weren’t my instructions clear?

That simple exchange of information sent me into a place I like to call the red zone. It’s no secret to anyone who knows me personally that I have anger issues. Usually it’s joked about and not taken very seriously, but today it became extremely serious. As I usually do in the red zone, I proceeded to yell and scream at J for not doing what I said he should have. I called him stupid, an adult baby, incompetent, blamed him for the accident without any details, and hung up on him. Yes, as he was standing in a gas station parking lot waiting for me to pick him up.

I wasn’t even going to write about this incident because quite frankly, I’m embarrassed that I can be such an extremely hateful bitch. I was compelled to write anyway because of what happened when I picked my daughter up this evening.

She of course heard the exchange from my end this morning, which sounded mean and scary and cruel. She cried then, I somehow justified speaking to J that way, and dropped her off at school before picking him up. When I saw her again at 5pm, she was still crying. Through the tears she managed to tell me she had a terrible day because she was sad about my fight with J and she was worried about him and begged me not to yell at him anymore.

I tried to reassure her that J and I worked out our problem (which really meant that he forgave me and brushed off my verbal abuse yet again), and that everything was fine. As she was getting her things together, the director of the after-school program pulled me aside to make me feel like complete dog shit talk to me about little J’s emotional state.

She said that little J sat in her office for 20 minutes crying and telling her that the constant fighting at home scares her and makes her sad.

BAM: I’m THAT mom.

She might as well have shot me in the head, that’s what I felt like. I know that I cross into the red zone more often than I’d like to admit, but I never knew that it affected little J so deeply. And now I’m just sad. I most likely need to be medicated, because I can definitely feel a physiological change when I “go there” – and once I’m there it takes a LONG time for me to feel normal again.

So I wrote this post to help me remember today. I have a lot of growing to do as a person and a mother.. as much as the heartless bitch has always been my MO, it’s time to put it down and walk away. I want to come back and read this and remember how heartbroken I felt earlier and how disappointed I am in myself right now. I never, ever want to hurt my little girl the way I have today :(

I’ll ask that you keep any unsolicited advice to yourself, thanks.

15 thoughts on “So what you’re saying is… I’m a shitty mom?

  1. Pingback: Another car accident. | Write in the Wrong Way

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  5. Fucking up is part of life. Don’t be so hard on yourself…at least you are self aware and honest enough to admit when you’re wrong. Which is more than I can say for most of the rest of us. Find some help if you feel you need it, and hang in there. :)

  6. My parents NEVER fought or got angry in front of us kids, and I thought it was normal… until I got married myself. Then I realized that it is really really NOT normal. Everyone fights. Everyone gets angry. And to be honest, never seeing my parents like that made me unprepared to handle others’ negative emotions as an adult. Don’t feel bad for showing your daughter that you’re a human!

    • I feel bad for showing her too often, is the problem. I think in her little eyes she believes that I hate my fiancé and want to leave him because I’m always yelling at him. He probably feels that way too… I’ve been on EXTRA good behavior since then and it feels good to be nice, surprisingly :)

  7. Being a parent has got to be the hardest job in the world. It’s easy for those outside of the situation to lay down judgement. We all do it at some point or another. But I won’t because I think you’ve done that already on your own. I will say this, though. It’s good that you recognized it. It’s when it goes unnoticed that things can go from bad to worse. No one is perfect, but you’re trying, and that’s what’s important.

    • Thank you for the thoughtful comment… Recognition is definitely half the battle because I just literally had no idea that she was so affected. Now I know. Now that I’m consciously thinking about moments when I’m muttering things under my breath or thinking hateful things, it is really quite disgusting how often it happens. I don’t know how I ever got to be such a miserable person but I hope that NOTICING when it’s happening will help me to curb my attitude before it gets to be a verbal barrage of awfulness.

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