I had a parenting meltdown recently and I wrote about it, for several reasons, but largely because I realised how much easier it was for me to resolve thanks to a couple of mother friends who in the past had been very frank about their own meltdowns with me. No matter how wretched I felt as a mother, I knew other mothers had been there before me and would be there after me. I wanted to contribute to that honesty. There is a tendency to hide the very ugliest moments of motherhood. I’m not surprised, it was my first, second, and third instinct to hide it. After the meltdown my two and half year old daughter told me she wanted to talk to certain friends and family about it. Of course, I told her, you can talk to whoever you want to about anything. Yikes, I thought, how is this going to look to people? Fortunately a two and half year old telling someone that their mother locked them out of the bathroom doesn’t sound that dramatic. And I guess it wasn’t really that dramatic, except that denying your child yourself feels terrible, especially when they’ve been anxious and upset.
The martyrdom of motherhood? My co-conspirator and I bought this independent film and we’re planning to have a little screening in Australia. I’ve watched it and it’s delightful with a great theory in there towards the end about why you mother the way you do.
Another mother friend went to a fundraising lunch recently where the keynote speaker was a writer who is also a mother. My friend was peeved by the speaker’s address which was supposed to be about the hardest moments of motherhood. The speaker talked about the daily grind of nappy changing and monotonous excursions to the park but she didn’t talk about meltdowns, in fact my friend found the address to be a thinly veiled boasting session on the part of the speaker. Her duplicitous confessions all managed to reflect this mother in a rather favourable light with tales of missed gym sessions (ie. I exercise regularly) and occasional deviations off her toddler’s home-made organic food menu (ie. I make my own organic food for the kids). My friend was even dubious of the speaker’s thoughts on monotonous excursions to the park. How about the real confession, she wanted to know, the one where you confess how many times you didn’t in fact take your children to the playground as promised, that you flopped exhausted in front of mindless afternoon TV instead. What stopped that speaker from really talking about the hardest moments of motherhood? A room full of mothers of course.
Everyone tells you it’s ok to have less than stellar moments as a mother but there is also hefty condemnation awaiting those mothers who do transgress. I really enjoyed this book, We Need to Talk About Kevin: A Novel,
On a final note about meltdowns I recently came across two beautifully written posts about parenting meltdowns. The first is written by a single parent, with no-one in the evening to take over she reaches exhaustion by the time a precious tooth goes missing. (Interesting how meltdowns usually happen when you’re trying to do something really wonderful as a parent). The second is written by a mother about the precarious edge upon which mothering is practiced daily, on one side a beautiful day with your child, on the other a meltdown in the making.
http://wetfeet.typepad.com/wet_feet/2007/09/the-tooth-was-f.html#comments
http://gardenvarieties.blogspot.com/2007/09/with-me-its-always-little-things.html
If you have a post of your own for me to link to here, please let me know and I’d be glad to include it.
blue milk 
Ahh. Meltdowns. I don’t blog about them much. But I have them, like every one else. Most of the time, I love my kids climbing on me, talking to me, hugging me but there are other times that I just want them to GET AWAY FROM ME RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
I just put that book on hold at the library. Thanks for the review!
Thanks for the thought-provoking post. While evryone worries that you can “fake” things on the internet — be someone else, periodically there are reminders that what the internet often allows is for greater honesty. This is one of those times. I appreciated it.
I have a few friends with whom I laugh about our entries into the “parenting hall of fame,” and I love this — but even these confessions are more about our periodic complete studidity, something that can be laughed at, not about the moments you describe, and they happen to everyone. I have never had any dramatic scenes, but I have certainly had moments where I hate the tone I used or cringed at myself — needing to get the last word in (why? she’s 4, your’e thirthy-five, wtf?). It’s a terrible feeling to wish you could just take it back.
I read ‘We have to talk about Kevin’ and felt – vindicated. I reminded me that motherhood doesnt make you omnipotent. you can’t be responsible for everything, even though there is plenty of noise about maternal responsibility. Sometimes life – and other people’s behaviour – is bigger than you are.
Here’s a confession and a half for you. I once smacked my then thirteen year old daughter in the face, so hard she fell backwards onto her bottom. Four years later and she seems to have forgotten it, I never will.
My partner at the time told me if I ever did it again he’d call DOCs. But he didnt live with us, and used to go home when ever the bad behaviour started. My girl’s own father was (and still is) useless.
I believe the best kind of parenting is done with two parents on the same side. There are times you NEED each other.
I know being a parent meants that no matter what YOU have to be the adult. Lashing out is wrong…. But I’d like to be given some credit for the nights – and it was every night for over a year – when the thirteen year old threw ANOTHER tantrum and I was patient and calm and compassionate. I’d like to be given some credit for letting her abuse and spite break over me for so long without any response. And I’d like anyone reading this to know that I had been trying to walk away from her for half an hour and she had been following me and kept screaming abuse close to my face. She had been warned. And warned. And warned.
My brother tried to reassure me saying it was a valuable lesson for the girl about people’s limits.
what happens afterwards? you go on – and try again.
I asked a friend once who had an older girl, but had been through similar. I said, “do you ever forgive them?”
she smiled and put her hand on my arm.
“when they leave home you not only forgive them, You miss them.”
And its true. I miss her, I worry about her, and I love her.
rose, I don’t think anyone here would judge you for that. We ALL breakdown. Some parents break down and spank when they always swore they would NEVER spank their kids. Some parents let a nasty name come flying out of their mouths. We never thought we would do it, but it happens to the best of us. You get tons of credit for the good work you’ve done. You’re human. That’s exactly the problem with the glorification of motherhood. We’re never allowed to just be people, warts and all.
When I have a meltdown and I talk about it, I don’t expect to be told that I was right to explode or that it was okay. But rather, that I am okay, in spite of it.
I think I was in constant meltdown mode for the firt 9-12 months after my second son was born. I know I’m still tightly wound and can still turn into a sobbing pile of “Why did I have kids!?” at the smallest thing. Motherhood is a tough place to be. You’re expected to perfect 24/7.
I could feel myself losing it one day recently, so I put them in the car for a ride, thinking we’d all have a chance to chill out, but we ended up, all three of us, hysterically crying.
Meltdowns are certainly a dirty little secret of mothering (and fathering, I’m sure. I wonder how similar or different fathers’ experiences are with this.) But this secret shame stuff loses its power, for me, at least, when we share these stories. Thank you.
I’ve come close on so many occasions to absolutely whacking my two year old and swearing blue murder at her. The reason I dont: I’m almost always accompanied by Al and so I’ve been able to walk away. It’s simply been a matter of personnel and on a different day at a different time the outcome would be different. Rose is right – two parents together (and preferably at all times) makes it so much easier. And even then, there are days when we’re both on a knife edge. Sometimes parenthood is a powder keg.
Two thoughts::
Once on a train in Vietnam a child screamed all night, driving her mother to distraction until she literally tossed the baby onto the ground. Another woman picked up the kid and walked away with her. It helps when there’s support that’s non-judgemental and practical, and I wish I’d been thoughtful enough to offer it to the woman.
I was reading about the ‘evidence’ against Kate McCann – all those diary entries about how difficult it was with the kids and how her husband didn’t help. Without commenting on what evidence is actually available, I was struck that these sentiments could be presented in the media as evidence that a woman would kill her child. They weren’t extreme, they were what I’ve read on almost every blog about motherhood, and what I think to myself most days. It’s dangerous to write about obvious anger in public but it seems it’s just as dangeorus to acknowledge any kind of negative feelings in private writings as well.
Ha! Bluemilk – I just followed the links you put up and realised one of them was me! Thinking back on that day, I’m not sure why I didn’t whack Lu – I was so angry at her – and angry over nothing, which is where the biggest anger so often comes from.
The thing is, I’d forgotten about that interaction – there’s been so many similar since then. I spend my days gritting my teeth and biting me tongue, occassionally ducking out to have a bit of a cry at her meanness. Toddlers: they’re bloody hard work.
I think the fact we all keep coming back to love our kids and try again is a pretty solid indication that we are good mothers.
I’ve seen mothers with that familiar look in their eyes–god, help me, I can’t take one more second of this….–and I’ve wanted to take the baby for a minute to help like the woman in Vietnam did, but it’s so hard to tell if I’d be helping or making her feel way worse since we don’t know each other… More reaching out to each other could make all the difference sometimes.
And that Kate McCann diary–the quotes they’ve come out with (and who even knows what’s true anymore in this case) might as well be “I breathe air,” or “I live on planet Earth,” they’re so obvious to another mother. And the only safe defense of a woman who admits feelings like she does seems to be: “She’s the perfect mother.” We can’t say, “She loves her children but sometimes gets so frustrated she secretly wants to smack the daylights out of them. But doesn’t.” Apparently, that would mean she kills children. Unbelievable.
I have to say that your blog always makes me feel okay about the HUGE amounts of ABC Kids I let the kids watch, even though you don’t mention kids tv often, it’s just the attitude – an attitude that none of us is a perfect parent. Also, the plastic cups containing tiny teddy biscuits they eat while watching tv.
There now, confession over!
great post as usual…it’s true that none of us can be perfect and this kind of shared honesty really does help, because you realise you’re not the only one that sometimes feels they can’t handle it, despite best intentions. i think it’s all about keeping it in perspective: if you’re a great mum most of the time but frustration-aggression rears its ugly head on relatively rare occasion, you shouldn’t beat yourself up. if one was losing it regularly, that’d be the signal to seek help. i mentioned a news item to a girlfriend the other day, the one where the adult Chinese(?) woman was x-rayed and they found her parents had stuck all these pins in her as a baby! so like, that’s a bad parent. getting angry with your child when they push you past your limit every now and then is not. and i like to think that kids need to see the full range of human emotion, and it’s how you handle meltdowns afterwards that is meaningful and can help the child learn.
also, i’d love to be more honest on my own blog about meltdowns (that in retrospect often seem so comical) but have you considered the issue of blogs potentially being used against you – having had my blog appear in affidavits in the Family Court once upon a time sure makes me think twice about whether i want to give someone any kind of ammo for painting me as an evil mom should they ever want to…
Thanks for these comments, there is a keen interest among mothers (and fathers?) to talk to one another about meltdowns, it’s just too taboo to be broached very often hey?
radicalmama – I look forward to hearing your thoughts on that novel when you’ve read it.
mom- interesting observation you’ve made about the differences between so-called confessions and the real confessions of parenting less than beautifully.
rose – I can always count on you to be gutsy enough to tell the real truth, I love your comments. I agree with your brother about there being some lesson in learning about people’s breaking points and I guess there is always another opportunity for learning how someone recovers and makes amends after their breaking points.
Activist Mommy – beautifully put and I also think that first year is the hardest.
Marjorie – that drive in the car sounds interesting, you poor things. I like the way you described meltdowns as the dirty little secret.
Kris – I totally agree with you that single parenthood is a million times harder than parenting with a partner. There is nothing as difficult as knowing you have no relief in sight, no break, no second opinion on your decisions, no refuge when you break.
I find that stuff now starting to come out from Kate McCann’s diary so innocuous I feel disgusted at its interpretation. This is the first time I’ve witnessed a true mother-demonizing effort since becoming a mother myself and I’m shocked at the picture it paints of our attitudes towards mothers.
Oh Gianna – I worry about the risk of honesty a lot, your comment made me shudder – what an awful experience for you.
Thank you Victoria – what a lovely vote of support.
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