This morning, I spent what felt like an eternity trying to open a package just to get a bar of soap for my shower. My frustration peaked as I thought, “Why can’t anyone else see we need a new bar of soap? Why is the packaging so ridiculous?” It seemed absurd to be getting so worked up over a simple bar of soap, but in that moment, it felt like a monumental task. I was furious. The anger bubbled inside me, and this is just a glimpse of how my anxiety impacts my daily life.
Since I became a mother, I’ve been in a constant struggle against the anger that surrounds my responsibilities at home. It’s easy to find myself snapping, yelling, and sometimes making the atmosphere uncomfortable for everyone around me. No one wants an upset mother, least of all me.
The guilt that follows my moments of frustration often feels overwhelming. I sometimes wonder if I’m truly cut out for this role. I find myself questioning if my children would be better off with a mother who doesn’t let the simple act of a child misplacing their shoe throw them into a spiral of anger and regret. I wish they didn’t witness my tears after I lash out or see how something trivial can ignite my temper, especially when they’re just trying to learn about the world, not make my life more difficult.
It’s painful to have to apologize and seek forgiveness from those I love most. I often fantasize about being calm and composed, where dinner preparations don’t send me into a whirlwind of self-doubt and irritability. Anxiety isn’t just about feeling stressed or panicking; for me, it’s being so overwhelmed by my daily responsibilities that I struggle to see clearly. The outcome? Frigid, angry words and a slew of apologies.
In the heat of the moment, controlling my reactions can feel impossible. My anger spills out faster than I can rein it in, all because my mind is racing with a never-ending to-do list of motherhood obligations. Even the smallest things can set me off.
As someone who often wakes up at 4 a.m. with a mental checklist that keeps me from getting enough rest, I face the day already exhausted and on edge. This fatigue fuels my irritability, and I end up feeling angry at the world for reasons that often have nothing to do with what’s actually happening around me.
Growing up, I lived in an environment that often made me feel anxious and restless. The last thing I want is to create a similar atmosphere for my kids. I want them to see me as a safe haven, a source of understanding, and reassurance that a spilled bowl of cereal won’t trigger a meltdown. It breaks my heart to see them look at me with concern, worried that they’ll provoke my anger with a simple mistake. It’s gut-wrenching to acknowledge that this is our reality.
I desperately want my family to know how much I care for them. When I lash out, it’s never because I’m truly upset with them. In those moments, what I often need most is compassion, a hug, or gentle words. Thankfully, my children have a knack for forgiveness.
I wish I could convey that my desire to give them the best often leads to my anxiety. They deserve a mother who doesn’t blow up over spilled milk, who can navigate a typical day with a toddler without needing therapy or medication to keep her afloat.
But I’ve realized that when you’re on the receiving end of an angry, anxious person, it’s easy to withdraw or avoid them. I can’t blame my loved ones for doing so; I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes either.
What I want people to understand is that beneath my anger lies deep sadness—sadness over my inability to control it and pain from hurting those I love the most. I’m not intentionally trying to be difficult, even if it seems that way at the moment. With that sadness comes a strong desire to change, even when it feels out of reach.
I’m actively working on managing my anger. Some days are better than others. I utilize the tools I learned in therapy, and I take medication that helps ease the tension. I strive to be a more positive parent, letting go of many triggers that exacerbate my anxiety.
I’ve learned the value of saying “I’m sorry” and have found peace in acknowledging my truth—that my anxiety leads to anger and short tempers with those I cherish most. Thankfully, they’re forgiving, and I just hope to find a way to forgive myself too.
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In summary, navigating motherhood while dealing with anxiety and anger is a challenging journey. I strive to improve, recognizing that my loved ones deserve my best. The road may be tough, but with support and understanding, I hope to foster a nurturing environment for my family.
Keyphrase: Anxiety and Motherhood
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