Dear Mom,

Did you ever find it super challenging to be a parent? Were there ever any days when you looked at us and thought, “Now how the hell am I going to handle this situation?” Did you ever overreact? Yell at us when we didn’t deserve it? Did you ever want to give up and walk away? Slam a door? Say something you regretted?

Did you ever feel like you made too many mistakes?

I’m going to go ahead and assume you felt these things. I know you obsessed over your own actions and inactions, so I’d bet you laid in bed at least some nights regretting things you said to us or ways you reacted.

What I do know, with absolute certainty, is that when we had fights, no matter the weight of the argument, you always made sure we were back to a place of saying I love you before bedtime. You never hung up the phone without saying I love you. You never walked out of the door without saying I love you. You always made sure, even at the worst of times, that we knew we were loved.

Thank you. Thank you for showing me the importance of reminding our loved ones that we love them. Thank you for reminding me so often of your love for me. Even if we had our issues during my teen years, it did speak volumes to hear you say you loved me so often.

But I’m starting to realize now that there is another crucial step in convincing kids that they are loved. We can’t only tell them. We must show them.

This past Sunday, after days of running around and exhausting ourselves, we decided to have a lazy day. We thought we all could use time to lay around and rest. To recover from the week before and prepare for the week approaching. Turns out, our kids don’t do so well with lazy days. Especially when those exhausted kids envision a lazy day to consist of hours of screentime and literally nothing else. Our day imploded early on. Both kids spent so much time crying by the end of the day I wasn’t even sure what they were upset about anymore. Which topics did we overcome? Which topics were they still upset about? It all blended into a mountain of tears, raised voices, foot stomps, and cruel words.

By Monday morning I had come to a realization about my parenting. I woke up with a single thought, I can do better. Clearly, whatever tactic I used wasn’t working. I listened to a parenting podcast and talked to my therapist and ultimately concluded that the problem was my overreaction to their perfectly normal reactions. These kids were so tired. So mentally and physically spent. They were reacting to the smallest inconveniences as if they were a direct assault on their human rights. They were too exhausted to put their emotions into words. They were failing miserably at communicating. And what did I do? How did I react? I met them exactly where they were. I failed miserably at communicating. I threatened. I took things away. I held ultimatums over their heads. At one point I even made them feel guilty for wasting our time with their tantrums. I know. I know. But if only they had listened the first time. If only they had taken showers when we first suggested it. If only…

I made critical mistakes. But also? I made perfectly normal mistakes. Standard human errors. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was standing up for myself. Self-care is to combat my daughter’s attitude with, “You have no right to talk to me that way”, right? I convinced myself I was protecting my own feelings by lashing out at them for having their own. And I know why I did this. It’s what I know. It’s what most of us experienced when we were kids.

But I will say, at the end of the night, after I held both kids in my arms and let them cry it out, we exchanged “I love you’s”. We talked a little about what had happened. We worked together to get to a place where we were happy and feeling loved and respected.

However, I also know it wasn’t nearly enough. I knew there was something big I needed to say to my kids. Something more important, in my opinion, than saying I love you. I needed to say I’m sorry. So, I did. I told them how I made a mistake. I told them I can do better. Now I must show them.

I tell my kids constantly that I love them. At every chance I get. But I fear the “I love you’s” will become empty if I’m not showing them my love through my actions. Will Scotland believe that I love her if I’m spending so much of her time telling her to talk to me in a different tone? To just do what I say? To get in the shower even if she has a perfectly logical reason for wanting to shower after dinner? Will Idris believe I love him if I’m spending so much of his time telling him he can’t watch more TV? He can’t play more Nintendo? He can’t jump from his bed to his sister’s. OK, seriously he can’t do that last one ever. But the point I’m making is Idris hears no from me so much I don’t think he ever expects a yes.

On Saturday, I took Idris to his favorite playground while Scotland had a playdate at her friend’s house. As we parked, he realized that he’d be alone there. No friends to hang out with. No sister to play with. Just his mom who wasn’t going to climb the play structure with him. He asked to go to the zoo instead and I said no. Of course, we weren’t going to drive to the zoo and pay for the zoo when a perfectly good playground was right there. Soon after he began to play, I had a thought. We did have enough time for the zoo. I could buy a membership for the year so Idris can go more often. I love our zoo. We all do. Why not? So, I asked if he wanted to leave the park with me and go to the zoo. His face lit up. He even brought up that very moment later in the day. How excited and surprised he was when I asked.

This. This is where I feel like I can always do better as a parent. I don’t want my son to be this surprised when I offer to take him to the zoo. Perhaps I could find more ways throughout our days to give him small yeses. To show him my love more often. To turn things around so he doesn’t always expect me to say no. So he doesn’t always expect disappointment.

I must admit, I used the zoo against him later. He was begging for something I couldn’t give him. I don’t even remember what he wanted. But I had to stop and explain to him all I do for him. “I bought you a zoo membership. I bought you a churro and a carousel ride. Now you want more?” I knew it was wrong in the moment. I was trying to level with a six-year-old who was exhausted and just wanted something. Wanting is not innately bad. I understand wanting something and I more than understand being frustrating when you can’t have it. So why was I treating him like he was a bad kid for asking?

I think it’s common for parents to treat kids as if they’re mini adults. Especially when those kids are mature and seem to understand logic. But I must remind myself that they’re still children. They’re still young. They’re still developing. When I tell Scotland to talk to me a different way, she hears that there is something wrong with her. She assumes I don’t like her. She’s even been telling me lately that I hate her. I tell her to change in anyway, or to do something different, and she immediately goes to a place of me hating her. That’s a problem. I don’t want her to ever think I don’t like her. And clearly, telling her I love her isn’t enough. I must show her. As often as possible. I must show my kids that I love them through my actions as well as my reactions.

Ultimately, I must remind myself that while my kids are just kids, I am in fact an adult. I have the capacity to learn from my mistakes. I have the ability to react in a calm manner. I have the strength to not take it personally when my kids lash out at me. I know they don’t mean it when they say cruel things to me. I know they’re experimenting with their emotions. But when I say cruel things to them, they aren’t experienced enough to separate my words from my feelings. When I tell them they are doing something wrong, they internalize it as being wrong. And the last thing I want is for my kids to ever feel like there is something wrong with them. I want my kids to feel so much love from me that they know they can overcome anything. That they can count on me. That they are never alone. That they are undeniably and unconditionally loved. I want my kids to know during the worst days that I love them, because I do. I love them so much it hurts. Now I only have to show them.

I love you too, Mom. Always and forever.

Love,

Rachel