How my Mother’s Day went from terrible to blissful
Fuming, sweating and stomping into my bike pedals in the 90 degree heat, I held back tears. The day had started so perfectly: All of my three kids had handed me home-made Happy Mother’s Day cards. My 15-year-old teenager had written thoughtful, witty, touching things about how he appreciates that I let him make his own choices, that I act as his chauffeur at ungodly hours of the night, and that he basically thinks I’m pretty cool. My middle kid thanked me for being such a great mom, which, he assured me, should not be taken for granted, especially after realizing upon entering public school that a lot of his school mates don’t ave any mothers at all, or sucky ones. And little Eva handed over a gushing card with hand-drawn hearts exploding all over the page.
So that morning, I felt like I had it made as a Mom. Loved and appreciated by my kids, the whole family plus two dogs piled in the minivan to drive over Washington Pass to the other side of the mountains, where we would do whatever my heart desired, since it was Mother’s Day. Since my heart’s desires involve biking, chocolate, coffee and spending quality time with my kids and husband, we ate breakfast at the Mazama store on the East side, a groovy, overpriced place everyone tends to love, and then planned on biking in the scenic Methow Valley.
That’s when things went downhill. The eldest realized he had forgotten his shorts (although I had reminded him four times to pack some at home). The middle kid complained that his bike gears were screwed up. And little Eva started whining about the heat after only two minutes on the bike. My husband, who had spent hours packing and readying the car, had forgotten to pack saddle bags so we could carry water and snacks.
I turned into a pissed-off, resentful, disappointed woman – not the kind of mother adored and loved by her kids. I started snapping at everyone, blaming my family for not taking enough responsibility, accusing them of screwing everything up.
Then I stopped myself and requested to bike alone for a while. They could have ice cream and meet me 15 miles down the road. With nary a kiss or kind word, I headed off alone in a huff.
After a few minutes on the bike, I noticed my negative thoughts about my family. That’s when the Mama guilt started, and I began beating myself up for being so unkind to everyone. Thankfully, I caught myself.
🦋🦋🦋And this, right there, is why I am so grateful for the tools I have learned and have been teaching to other mothers. The moment where you slide down the rabbit hole of guilt, shame, negativity, blame, beating yourself up – and catching yourself. If I hadn’t caught myself, the day would have been horrible. 🦋🦋🦋
But here’s what happened instead:
I forgave myself for being unkind and bitchy. I turned towards the part of me that was disappointed with the situation and validated that of course I would feel that way. I let myself off the hook with lots of love and compassion.
I then started challenging the negative self-talk in my head: “Gosh, look at you! You’re a terrible mother! You hurt your kids’ feelings, and you totally dumped on your poor husband, who is trying so hard. Your kids will hate you forever. You’re just like your own mother! You’re not good enough. You’re bad.”
As I biked, I came to a deeper truth, which is that we all make mistakes, that it’s okay to be disappointed and let other people know about it, that I’m a pretty good Mom most of the time, that I’m a good person, that I’m grateful to be in such a beautiful place, although, gosh darn it, it’s hot out.
When I met up with my family an hour later, I apologized for being so snarky, and they did, too.
We then got cold drinks, found some shorts on sale for the teenager, fixed the middle son’s gears, and shuttled the boys to their favorite mountain bike route, while Eva and I sat at the lake, relaxing and bonding.
Later, my boys and I biked 20 more miles together, in utter bliss and harmony.
This would have not happened if I allowed my automatic meaning-making and negative self talk to take over.
So here’s my question for you: What kind of stuff do you tell yourself when things break down? How do you handle that? Do you believe the stories you tell yourself? And how does that make you act with yourself and others? What kind of life does that create, and what kind of life would you like instead?
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You truly can grow yourself into the mother/woman/wife/friend you really want to be, even if you don’t know how the heck to start, because you’re stuck too deep in the muck! So book your free session now! 💗
