After what felt like an eternity of 42 minutes, my kids were still dawdling, complaining about school, and running back inside for forgotten items such as lunches, homework, sweatshirts, and who knows what else. I felt the familiar pang of anxiety rising within me, knowing we were going to be late—again. With my keys in hand, I sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, waiting for the last child to tumble into the car. Teeth clenched, I backed out of the driveway without uttering a word.
As a mother of three, I have two school drop-offs to manage. If we leave even a minute late, it’s a disaster. And by “we,” I mean “me.” Sure, my kids might endure the embarrassment of a tardy slip, but once they hand it to the teacher and settle in, it’s over. For me, however, being late is a cascade of consequences: I miss my doctor appointments, meet-ups with friends, and even my exercise classes. My meticulously planned schedule gets disrupted just enough to leave me rushing around for the rest of the day.
I operate on a tight schedule. Don’t we all? So, when a white SUV suddenly pulled in front of me on the winding residential street and proceeded to crawl well below the 25 mph speed limit, I lost my cool. With the kids in the car, I managed to keep my frustration in check, but I banged on the steering wheel and semi-yelled, “What’s up with this guy?! He’s making us LATE!”
I flashed my high beams and engaged in some passive-aggressive driving maneuvers (I know, not my proudest moment). After a minute or two, the driver finally pulled over, and I mistakenly thought he was kindly letting me pass. But no, he stepped out of his vehicle and walked toward my car, forcing me to stop. He appeared to be in his early 60s, dressed casually despite it being a Tuesday, and he looked anything but pleased.
What do you do when an angry driver confronts you? As he tapped on my window with a scowl, adrenaline surged through me. How dare this man, clearly enjoying a leisurely drive, tell me how to drive? Didn’t he see the speed limit sign? Whatever he intended to say, I was ready to fire back.
Taking a deep breath, I mustered my best stoic expression and rolled down my window.
“What are you in such a hurry for?” he yelled. “You’re driving way too closely! You need to slow down!”
Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. You need to slow down. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words emerged. I wanted to argue that he was driving dangerously slow, but deep down, I knew he was right.
From the moment I wake up, I feel as though I’m racing against time. So much is beyond my control—how fast my kids will get ready, their moods, and even my reactions. I rush around the house, tense and demanding, trying to reclaim lost time. Most mornings end in yelling or tears. I often find myself with a tight chest and a furrowed brow, offering only the faintest of smiles.
You need to slow down.
Throughout the day, I dart from one task to another—preparing, working, squeezing in one more phone call or errand before picking up the kids, starting dinner, and managing homework and bedtime routines. I tell myself this frantic pace is just part of motherhood, and I’m determined to do my best.
But I can’t keep up this frantic version of motherhood anymore. It’s draining. It’s disheartening. It’s turning me into someone I don’t want to be.
You need to slow down.
When that stranger’s words reached me through my window, everything momentarily slowed down, and I felt tears welling up. Not an ugly cry, but enough to keep my sunglasses on. I swallowed hard; I wasn’t going anywhere, and that was actually a relief.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I’m running late, and that’s not fair to you. I’m sorry.”
And I meant it. I regretted upsetting him and making him angry. I lamented all those mornings I yelled at my kids and stressed them out. I regretted allowing busyness to overshadow simply being present. Mostly, I was sorry for myself, for not realizing how much I was missing in my rush to accomplish everything, for neglecting my own needs in the whirlwind of motherhood.
The man stood there with his arms crossed, clearly unsure how to respond. I waited patiently.
“Just take your time,” he finally said, his tone softer than before. He quickly returned to his car and drove off.
I sat there for a moment, heart racing, tears streaming down my face.
“Is that man mad at you, Mommy?” my youngest daughter asked from her booster seat.
“Not really,” I fibbed. “He was just upset because I was driving too closely.”
“Are we going to be late?” she inquired.
“Yep, we are definitely going to be late,” I replied. “But it’s okay, we’re not really in a hurry anymore.”
In the grand scheme of things, perhaps we’re meant to slow down and savor the moments, rather than rush through life.
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Summary:
In a moment of frustration while driving, a stranger’s admonition to “slow down” prompted a mother to reflect on her hectic life. This encounter highlighted the toll of constant busyness and the importance of being present. Ultimately, it was a wake-up call to embrace a more balanced approach to motherhood.