There are days when I feel like Supermom.
And then there are nights like this.
It was one of those long days.
You know, the kind where you’re already running on fumes before the sun sets. I had pushed through everything: school runs, meals, meltdowns, cleaning up, juggling chores, being present, doing the things, ticking the boxes. I’d vacuumed, folded laundry, scrubbed the sink, and still managed to stay on top of their homework and routines. It was exhausting, but I told myself I could handle it.
Until I couldn’t.
Because right before bedtime, after I had finally cleared the living room. I wiped the crumbs, stacked the books, and organized the toys, turned around to find it all undone.
They had made a mess. Again.
Pillow forts everywhere. Cups on the floor. Glitters and glue were scattered. A trail of chaos as if my earlier cleaning spree never happened. It was like they were playing a secret game of “Let’s see how fast we can make Mom cry.”
And I snapped.
Not the proud, controlled mom voice. No, it was the voice. The loud, tired, frustrated one. The voice I hate using. It escaped before I could catch it. I didn’t yell to hurt them, but I know it stung. Their laughter stopped. Their eyes widened. The room froze.
I could see it in their faces. Mom’s had enough..*
And I had.
Not because of them, really, but because of everything else I was carrying. The invisible load of motherhood. The tiredness that no nap can fix. The constant giving of myself that sometimes leaves me feeling… empty.
That night, after the tears and apologies, mine and theirs, I sat quietly in the dark, replaying it all. The guilt crept in, whispering I had failed them, that I wasn’t patient enough. Gentle enough. “Enough” enough.
But here’s what I’m slowly learning, and maybe you need to hear this too:
Snapping doesn’t mean we’re bad moms. It means we’re human.
We reach breaking points not because we’re weak, but because we care so much. Because we give and give until there’s nothing left in the tank. And while it’s okay to expect more from our kids, it’s also okay to give ourselves grace.
The next morning, I hugged them tighter. I told them I was sorry for raising my voice. I reminded them that keeping our home kind matters. I also let them know I need their help to make that happen.
Motherhood isn’t perfect. But it’s real. Messy. Full of snapped moments, followed by softer ones.
If you’ve been there too, feeling overwhelmed or on the edge, I want you to know:
You’re not alone.
You’re still a good mom.
And tomorrow is always a new day to try again.
From one tired, loving, human mom to another,
Let’s keep going. We’re doing the best we can. 💛