Playing Through The Hard Days
This week, I felt like a shitty mom. There. I said it.
I’m walking through a season of grief that hit me harder than I expected. It’s close. It’s heavy. It sits in my chest and shows up at the most inconvenient moments - like when I’m being handed a plastic stethoscope for the 47th time.
Kids are a distraction. The best distraction. The longer the days with them, the more the laughter fills the room, the more I can forget for a moment. But the longer the days stretch on, the more everything else gets bottled up. And when you’re trying to be a good mom while you’re crumbling inside? It’s exhausting.
I’ve been trying not to show emotion around my kids. That felt like the goal. Be steady. Be calm. Be their safe place.
But here’s the truth: pretending I’m not overwhelmed doesn’t make me a better mom. It just makes me a ticking one.
It’s the moment when playing doctor goes a little too far. One more aggressive poke with a plastic needle and I feel like I might snap. It’s the small lapse in judgment. The missed direction. The not-listening-after-I’ve-asked-three-times. The things that normally roll off my back suddenly feel unbearable.
And then comes the guilt.
Why am I so triggered?
Why can’t I just be patient?
Why does this feel so hard?
A lot of these feelings are new. They’re sharp. They’re raw. And I’m learning how to carry them while still being a mom.
I’m figuring it out as I go.
I don’t have this mastered. I’m vulnerable here. And I know I’m not alone.
Here’s what I’m doing right now (not perfectly, but intentionally) to try to show up better on the hard days.
1. Remember: I’m not the only one hurting.
My kids are hurting too.
My oldest has been asking questions. Real ones. Honest ones. Four-year-old wisdom wrapped in tiny sentences.
And engaging in those conversations? It’s healing, but it hurts.
Preserving memories. Sharing stories. Talking about emotions in simple language. There is something incredibly generous about processing feelings with a child. There’s no judgment. No over-analysis. Just connection.
Sometimes talking with your child heals more than talking with an adult.
Connection over perfection. Always.
2. Make room for space.
Sometimes I need a minute in another room.
Sometimes I need 15 minutes crying in the bathroom.
Remember those newborn days when screen time wasn’t a debate, it was survival? It’s okay to revisit that season for a bit.
If engaging in play feels impossible, it’s okay to press pause. Throw on a movie. Take a breath. Regulate yourself.
You can’t co-regulate when you’re dysregulated.
The reconnection will come. It always does.
3. Lean into your partner (or friend, family member, etc.)
If someone is beside you in this season, they don’t want to watch you flicker.
They want to see you light up again. Easier said that done, right?
It’s easy to sit in silence. It’s easier to keep things in. It can even feel pointless to open up when you’re exhausted and unsure how to articulate what’s wrong. But sometimes being loved through the grief brings more peace than fighting the fact that something feels missing.
Let someone hold you, too.
4. Sleep is sacred.
Those bedtime routines? They’re not just for our kids. Grief makes rest harder. The mind spins. The body feels heavy but wired.
But even a small reset (a consistent wind-down, an earlier bedtime, putting the phone away) makes a difference. A rested body and mind are powerful tools when you’re walking into another long day of little hands and big feelings.
I’m not writing this from the other side of grief. I’m in it.
Some days are easier. The heaviness still lingers. But I’m learning that being a good mom doesn’t mean being an unbreakable one.
It means modeling what it looks like to feel, to pause, to repair, and to try again tomorrow.
If you’re in a hard season too, I see you.
If you’ve snapped more than you’d like this week, you’re not alone.
If you feel like you’re failing because you’re overwhelmed, you’re not.
We can play through the hard days.
Not perfectly.
But honestly.
And that counts.
