Tonight, I find myself in a familiar situation. I couldn’t bring myself to tuck my eldest child into bed. The thought of him beginning school tomorrow filled me with overwhelming emotion, and I ended up swapping bedtime duties with his father.
I usually scroll past posts from other parents who express their heartache about sending their firstborns off to school. I used to think, “That won’t be me,” and “If only they could let go a little.” Yet here I am, hiding in my daughter’s room while my husband comforts our son to sleep, tears streaming down my face. This child was my first teacher; he has shared all my initial parenting experiences. Together, we’ve navigated joy, sorrow, and some fierce struggles.
I grew up in a household plagued by abuse. I can acknowledge that now without the weight of anxiety, free from the fear of my mother’s unpredictable outbursts that left me constantly on edge. I witnessed her “rage cleaning” and spent countless hours perfecting the house to avoid igniting her fury. Shouting was often followed by physical punishment, and the mere sound of drawers rattling conjures memories of wooden spoons and the terror they represented. I can still recall the times I locked myself in the bathroom, desperately seeking refuge from her wrath.
I was determined to break this cycle; I aspired to be the perfect parent for my children. Yet, as I stand over my son’s bed, memories flood back—his first smiles, his first giggles, and the first moment I felt that anger welling up inside me. It was a small infraction that ignited my “fire,” and I was horrified by the realization of that bubbling rage. I spent hours in tears afterward, processing my emotions.
I can confidently say that I never allowed my anger to manifest in the same hurtful way it did for my mother. Still, I felt its presence lurking within me, eager to break free like a wild animal. Many times, I found myself retreating to the bathroom, stifling my feelings to ensure I wouldn’t lash out at my child.
Where did this troubling rage originate? I knew its roots and felt deep shame. These are not the types of stories typically shared among mothers during casual playdates. I never wanted to admit, “Did I mention the first time I had to scream into a pillow to control my anger?” No. I was supposed to do better.
The journey hasn’t been easy, and it continues to be a challenge. However, I made a conscious choice for my family. I have a supportive partner and friends who uplift me, but ultimately, I chose my child over my pride and the voice in my head urging me to handle everything alone. I refused to create a fearful environment for my children, one where they would flinch at every loud noise or worry about their parent’s mood. Thankfully, I’ve maintained a nurturing atmosphere for my kids.
I’ve fought hard to be a better parent to my now six-year-old. His siblings have witnessed only minor frustrations from me, like a slammed door or an elevated voice. They’ve never encountered my tears or struggles with those dark urges that threaten to surface. Thanks to the guidance of a wise counselor and my supportive husband, I have found healthier ways to cope. I breathe deeply. I sing instead of shout. I repeat comforting mantras until I find my calm. Most importantly, I confronted my fears that transformed into anger over the years; once I tackled those emotions, I could see clearly.
As I reflect on my son, I realize he is a mirror that reflects both my triumphs and my struggles. His vibrant personality has been a guiding light. Surprisingly, I thought I had dealt with the past horrors of my childhood, but parenthood has a way of unearthing buried demons. It forces you to confront the very issues you thought you had left behind.
So, I weep with gratitude for the lessons he has offered me, yet guilt still lingers in my gut. I acknowledge my struggles with anger and the mistakes I made, but I remain hopeful that we’ve shared countless joyful moments that outweigh the darker times. I openly discuss my experiences with anger because I refuse to let this issue go unspoken. If we don’t share these feelings with one another, we risk raising another generation of children who live in fear. I am committed to breaking that cycle.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the journey of overcoming parental rage, particularly for a mother who grew up in an abusive environment. By acknowledging her struggles and confronting her fears, she aims to create a nurturing atmosphere for her children, breaking the cycle of fear and anger. Through open discussions and support, she emphasizes the importance of addressing these challenges to foster healthier family dynamics.