I Yelled at My Kids, Then Cried in the Laundry Room

There’s a version of me I wish didn’t exist: The one who snaps. The one whose voice gets sharp and too loud. The one who walks into the next room and wonders, “Why am I like this?”

Let me set the scene for you. The kids woke up, way too early at that, I was on my second day of solo parenting, and the fighting and whining started the moment their little feet hit the ground. It was a day that no matter what I did, no matter how much redirection and mommy tricks I pulled out nothing was good enough and only seemed to make everything worse. Then came time to start dinner, honestly this is where meal planning probably would come in clutch. I had no idea what I was going to make, I had a toddler wanting held and clawing at my legs, the other toddler crying because really, I don't know why. I was touched out, whined out, exhausted, and just done. I snapped. Gone was calm mom pulling out tricks to solve all the problems in came mom who let postpartum rage take over and she is terrifying. For me the postpartum rage is all consuming when it takes over, to the point my heart is racing out of my chest, I can't breathe, my head begins to pound and I, in a sense, "blackout".

I used to think I was the only one who did this. Turns out, I’m just one of the only one whose talking about it.

And please hear me out when I say this, it’s not just “being stressed.” It’s years of holding in needs. It's years of not using my voice. It’s sensory overload. It’s living on 4 hours of sleep, 3 cold coffees, and 1 too many expectations. It’s the ache of loving your kids so fiercely yet not knowing how to love yourself in the middle of their chaos. It's trying to raise yourself and raise them while trying to be the best partner to your spouse you can be.

That laundry room moment didn’t break me. It invited me to slow down and figure out what was going on underneath the rage. So, I started tracking things. Not in a productivity app, but in my body and my breath.

You may think I am silly for this and that is okay this is my healing journey, and you too have your own, but here it is a no judgement zone. In the laundry room it hit me that evenings make me anxious because 1) my kids aren't great sleepers so there is an impending dread for bedtime even though gosh some nights I just really need bedtime and (this is where you're going to give me a funny look) 2) my husband is home. Yup, I just said that. I love him with every fiber of my being, and I love when he comes home from work, but I have this little routine in my head, this unspoken schedule, that gets disrupted. I rush and I rush to keep up this silly schedule and make sure everyone is taken care of by a certain time that it sends my fight or flight into, well, fight or flight.

All very interesting realizations for me to dig up in therapy. And guess what? It turns out I wasn’t a monster. I was an overstimulated, unmet, unheard, still-holding-on-to-my-pre-baby-self kind of woman.

I didn’t become a "gentle" mom overnight. And no I am not talking the whole gentle parenting movement kind of gentle mom but the mom who can give and receive grace and parent as God intended. What I became was a mom who learned her cues.

Now that I know evenings are my "she may get crazy" moments, I intentionally watch my speed. Am I chopping the vegetables too fast? Am I stirring the pot too fast? Am I washing the pan like it personally assaulted me? And I turn on a comfort show on my phone, prop it up on the cookbooks and watch while I cook. The nights that the chaos is a little extra loud I get the big speaker out and turn on some Alanis Morsette or ______ and just slow it down with a little dance and scream sing some very off key lyrics.

None of it perfect. But slowly, I now I am starting to respond instead of react.

And I learned that grace isn’t just something we give our kids. it’s something we give the woman raising them.

If today was a yelling day, or a crying-in-the-laundry-room day, or a I’m-a-bad-mom day…

You're not alone. You're not broken. And you’re not stuck.

(Optional: plug in a Scripture here, or something like, “God isn’t shocked by your weakness — He wants to meet you there.”)

Pick a cue to track. Pick one rhythm to soften. Pick one safe mom friend who can take the mask off with you. You’re not losing yourself. You’re slowly learning how to come home to her.

And dear sweet friend if you are afraid, you can't find one of those safe mom friends, remember I am always right here.