Let's get started.
Hello, lovely listeners, and welcome back.
If you're anything like me, you've probably had moments where you have completely lost your patience over something that later on doesn't even seem that big.
Maybe it was the fifth time that you asked your child to put their shoes on.
Maybe it was the constant sibling fightings.
Or maybe bedtime had just dragged on for over an hour and somebody asked for another snack just as you finally sat down.
Oh my gosh.
In that moment, something in you snapped.
You raised your voice.
You spoke more harshly than you wanted to.
Maybe you saw your child's face fall afterwards and that image stayed with you.
And then later that night, when the house is finally quiet and you're lying in bed, you can't stop replaying it.
You feel sick in your stomach.
You hear your own tone over and over in your head.
You look at your child sleeping peacefully and think, how could I have said that? What's wrong with me? They deserve so much better than this.
And underneath all of it, underneath the guilt, is often something heavier.
Not just regret about the moment, but fear.
Fear that maybe this moment meant more than just a hard moment.
Maybe I've already done damage.
Maybe my child is going to remember this forever.
Maybe I'm becoming the kind of parent I never wanted to be.
Maybe one day they'll look back on their childhood and remember me as angry, impatient or unsafe.
Maybe I'm failing them in ways I can't undo.
I just want to pause here, because I think this is the part we don't talk about enough.
Not just the guilt after the hard moments, but the fear underneath it.
Let's get started.
Hello, lovely listeners, and welcome back.
If you're anything like me, you've probably had moments where you have completely lost your patience over something that later on doesn't even seem that big.
Maybe it was the fifth time that you asked your child to put their shoes on.
Maybe it was the constant sibling fightings.
Or maybe bedtime had just dragged on for over an hour and somebody asked for another snack just as you finally sat down.
Oh my gosh.
In that moment, something in you snapped.
You raised your voice.
You spoke more harshly than you wanted to.
Maybe you saw your child's face fall afterwards and that image stayed with you.
And then later that night, when the house is finally quiet and you're lying in bed, you can't stop replaying it.
You feel sick in your stomach.
You hear your own tone over and over in your head.
You look at your child sleeping peacefully and think, how could I have said that? What's wrong with me? They deserve so much better than this.
And underneath all of it, underneath the guilt, is often something heavier.
Not just regret about the moment, but fear.
Fear that maybe this moment meant more than just a hard moment.
Maybe I've already done damage.
Maybe my child is going to remember this forever.
Maybe I'm becoming the kind of parent I never wanted to be.
Maybe one day they'll look back on their childhood and remember me as angry, impatient or unsafe.
Maybe I'm failing them in ways I can't undo.
I just want to pause here, because I think this is the part we don't talk about enough.
Not just the guilt after the hard moments, but the fear underneath it.
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