Reaching the Boiling Point
The truth is, I have valid reasons for my feelings. Tensions are high, schoolwork is relentless, and everyone, including me, feels like a ticking bomb waiting to explode at the slightest confrontation. My kids are constantly having meltdowns, and my threshold for patience seems lower and lower every day.
Their outbursts are becoming more intense, which is only to be expected while they’re cooped up at home, but logically understanding the situation and living it are two different beasts. I know social isolation is making it harder for them to manage their emotions. I know I should be guiding them through those storms rather than adding frightening claps of thunder. But I just can’t seem to get a hand on my rage.
I have spent years taming my temper, with mindfulness being the ultimate tool that has helped me be a (mostly) calm and collected mom. When we entered quarantine, I thought I had a good handle on my jedi-mind—I thought that I was done being the mom who always yells at her kids. Would I lose it every once in a while? Of course. But day-to-day, I was pretty good at using my mindfulness skills to rein myself back in.
Yet we weren’t even a month into stay-at-home orders before I found myself struggling to find the space between rising anger and reaction.
I realized that I hadn’t grown past being a “yelling mom” after all, and every time I lost my temper, I felt like I was failing my kids. It quickly became a vicious cycle where the yelling would make me feel like a bad mom, and feeling like a bad mom would make me more prone to bursting all over again. It felt like I couldn’t stop, and worse yet, it felt like the yelling was becoming the main part of who I was.
Yelling became how I started to define myself.