I’m not going to sit here and pretend I’m the perfect parent. One, because that would be a blatant lie. And two, because perfection in parenting is a myth—like unicorns, wrinkle-free laundry, or toddlers who “listen the first time.”
My personal parenting motto? Do the best you can and pay for the therapy.
That little gem came to mind this past week when I hit my absolute limit with my daughter. Right now, she’s in that delightful I want to do everything myself phase, which is fantastic for her independence but exhausting for my sanity. The issue? She’s three. So while she wants to do all the things, she physically cannot do all the things. Which means my job is to guide her, let her struggle just enough to learn, and do all of this without making her feel bad when she inevitably spills, drops, or otherwise destroys something in the process.
But this weekend? I had nothing left in the tank.
I was overstimulated. Exhausted. My patience was hanging by a thread. And I knew if I kept pushing myself to be the “good” parent who lets her help with dinner (even though I knew it would result in tomato seeds in my hair and hers), I’d end up snapping—probably raising my voice, saying something I didn’t mean, and then spending the rest of the night feeling like garbage about it.
And listen, I know I’m not alone in this. I see so many parents in my practice caught in this same cycle: push, push, push… then boom. And what do our kids learn from that? That emotions should be bottled up until they explode. Not exactly the life lesson we’re going for.
So instead of forcing myself to power through, I did something different. I told my kid the truth.
"Mommy doesn’t have the patience tonight. I don’t want my feelings to get too big and end up saying something I don’t mean or using a big voice that you don’t deserve. So while I really want to help you with all the things tonight, I’m not in the space to do that. Maybe tomorrow, we can try again."
She looked at me, clearly disappointed. But then she just said, "Oh, okay, Mommy," and went off to do something else.
And just like that—dinner got made. No yelling. No frustration. No guilt. Just a small human learning how to process a boundary.
Later that night, she wanted to do something else, so I asked, "Honey, what did Mommy say earlier?"
She thought for a second, then repeated, "Mommy has no patience right now."
I followed up, "And what does that mean?"
She answered, "That means you don’t want to say things you don’t mean, and your feelings are too big."
Again—she’s three.
We don’t give kids nearly enough credit. They are capable of understanding so much more than we think they can. And honestly, if a toddler can begin to grasp the concept of emotional regulation, maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.
Because here’s the thing—one of the biggest parts of parenting isn’t just teaching kids how to do things. It’s teaching them how to handle emotions.
And that starts with us.
By setting limits in an honest, non-guilt-inducing way, we’re showing our kids that it’s okay to say, "I don’t have it in me right now." That boundaries are healthy. That emotions aren’t something to be ignored until they turn into a meltdown (for them or us).
Right now, there’s so much pressure on parents to show up 100% of the time, no matter what. But that’s not the job. The job is to show up authentically.
I knew I was at my limit because my body told me—I felt the tension in my jaw, the tightness in my stomach, that deep knowing that if she spilled one more thing, I might just lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling for an hour. I knew if I let her “help” with dinner, I’d be gritting my teeth the entire time. And because I’ve paid for my own therapy, I was able to recognize that and name it for her.
My hope? That when she reaches her limit, she’ll be able to name it too.
And that, right there, is the goal. Not being the “perfect” parent. Not pretending we have infinite patience when we don’t. But raising kids who know themselves, trust themselves, and can say, "I need a break before I lose it."
Now that’s a skill worth passing down.
Until next time my blunt, gritty and witty friends!
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