The Moment I Realized I Was An Asshole Mom
By: Lj Black
Tags: Family, Self Improvement, Parenting, Better Humans, It Happened To Me

The Moment I Realized I Was An Asshole Mom

And What I Did To Change — In One Easy Step

Photo by Courtney Nuss on Unsplash

Yup, I was an asshole mom.

Of course I didn’t set out to be that way — no one ever does — but the look on my daughter’s face the moment I realized I was dropping the ball is one I’ll never forget.

The Setup

It was back in 2014 when my kids were 6 years old. It was autumn. My husband had accepted a contract for work in another state, so I was on my own during the week with two kids and a new house to run and set up.

Before that, we recently moved from living overseas and bought a house in my hometown in Texas when life forced us to diverge from the plan of actually settling in Texas. My husband and I didn’t plan on living apart. When life throws you an opportunity, we knew we had to take it and make it work.

The New Plan

My husband’s contract was only good for a year, and since I was back to work in Texas for the foreseeable future, the new plan was for me and the kids to continue living in Texas and see if my husband’s contract would extend after the initial stage.

Many people can’t imagine living apart from their partner during a tough time like this, but I pride myself on the fact I am a tough Texas gal. My mama and daddy raised me right. I could handle ANYTHING.

And so I did.

Anything Meant Everything

I got the kids to school, doctor appointments, work, commuting 2 hours to Dallas or Austin four times a week, maintaining the house and preparing dinners, baths, and tucking the kids into bed at night.

Things were getting accomplished. Both my kids were in 1st grade and doing well. The house was lovely and painted, and the beginnings of the garden planted. Hubs came home on the weekends and it was like the sun would come out just for us to make our short time together all the brighter. The kids were ANGELS.

No one had any idea that I was struggling. Not even me.

The Kids

My son was six years old. My daughter was six also. They are eight months apart, but my daughter is older. They happen to be in the same grade at school. My son was a quiet child, rarely making noise or talking much at all. He had low energy and was introspective.

Almost the extreme opposite was my daughter. Sensory seeking (code for rambunctious), fun-loving, giggly, beautiful, and talkative, my daughter was always ON. If my kids were the weather, my son would be an overcast day; my daughter — the brightest sun in the bluest sky. Their energy levels didn’t quite match each other, and in retrospect, mine wasn’t matching theirs either.

Comfortably Numb

I didn’t feel at the time that I was missing my husband. In fact, now that I look back on it, I don’t think I was feeling much of anything at all during that time. The culture shock of returning to the United States after a decade of living abroad was enough to send me into a state of denial. I was able to get back to work where I left off — but I was deeply unhappy with it. I felt goalless, aimless, and soon I was jobless.

Oh, I was functioning, but in the same way some computer systems can reboot in safety mode: they’re on, but there is little they can do there. I was awake and going through the motions, but I was nowhere near the functionality I am capable of. I was physically present, but mentally I was just not there, and I was emotionally indifferent.

The Snap

One lovely evening, I had finished making dinner for my kids. I was standing in the kitchen tending to the dinner on the stove and not paying attention. My daughter, my beautiful child, was chirping away about something that happened at school that day. And I, inexplicably, had had it.

“Tia!” I snapped.

She looked at me.

“Enough!” I gave her the coldest of looks.

I watched the light in her eyes fade, and she looked at her dish forlornly. She fell deeply into the silence I shouted for. And I realized… it was the last thing I wanted.

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

What Have I Done?

That was the moment I was slapped in the face. I was such an asshole to her, and not just in that moment. But sadly, I realized, for a very long time.

It hit me hard, and it was that look that took me by the shoulders, shook me, and said, “What are you doing?”

The kids needed me to be their rock, their foundation, their joy, their cheerleader.

They needed me to be mom.

Being Mom Means Being Present

In an instant, I grabbed a plate and immediately sat down. I calmed my voice, and encouraged my patience to take over my irritation. I looked at her and said with all that I had within me, “I’m so sorry, baby. Can you tell me again what happened at school today?”

She looked at me with her big brown eyes and spoke lowly to not enrage me further, “Are you mad?”

“No,” I shook my head and smiled at her, “I was just thinking about something too hard. But I’m back now. I’m here. Talk to me.”

She hesitated a moment, then plunged into her story again with fervor. An animator would have had trouble keeping up with her expressive storytelling. She was so beautiful, and she sparkled through my gathered tears. I couldn’t even tell you the details of what the story was because I was too busy kicking myself for almost missing out on this moment.

I was kicking myself for missing a lot of the moments that led up to this one too.

After she was done with dinner, she kicked back from the table and gave me a hug, “It’s ok, mommy.”

“It was such a great story it brought tears to my eyes.” I smiled at her.

Content with that explanation, she toddled off to her room to play, her earlier shattered demeanor gone like I had imagined it.

And I sat there with my thoughts and my disbelief long into the evening, realizing that I was finally AWAKE.

The One Thing I Changed

Be an active listener: that was the one thing I changed in that moment to do better. That one realization helped me evolve in that instant and forever. With my daughter’s downcast face, she challenged me to do better, to dig deeper into myself, and be an engaged parent by simply listening.

I sat there realizing that I had been sleepwalking as a parent. Sure I was handling things, but there was a lot of me that was missing. I had not been there for my kids like I should’ve been. I was focused, or rather, unfocused and a zombie for weeks… months, maybe.

I told my husband about it. He wondered if I was depressed. I didn’t think I was, but in retrospect, I think I was the definition of functionally depressed. I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed to him the shame I felt in that moment with our daughter. Most likely he would tell me it wasn’t my fault, but in my heart, I will always know how close I came to burning that bridge to her.

I vowed to work on myself to improve my active listening skills with the kids, and from that my relationship with my kids improved as well. I tend to focus on my daughter during this time because she was the one who was the obvious canary in the coal mine for my wavering attention. My son, who is on the spectrum, only asks for my attention when he wants it, and rarely talked to me back then unless he needed food. It’s the usual dynamic for him, but my daughter was not that way. She needed me more than ever back in those days, and I was too much of an asshole to realize it.

Since Then…

My husband and I reunited under one roof in time for the kids to start third grade in a new state, a new home, and with both parents.

Listening to your child drone on and on about Barbies or school friends is not that much different that listening to your best friend going on about her favorite things. She just wanted the satisfaction of being heard, and I had sunk so far into myself that I didn’t know I was missing the cues.

What I Learned About Being A Parent

Being a great parent isn’t about knowing the answers, or being perfect. It’s about listening, being in the moment with your kids, and admitting when we are less than perfect.

photo by author

Years have passed and I still practice actively listening to my kids every time they talk to me. Now that they are pre-teens, the times they actually want to talk to me are becoming fewer, and I cherish every one of them. Even if that means stopping my writing, putting down the news, or being busy in whatever way, shape, or form; that busy doesn’t take precedence over when my kids want my attention.

I had laid the foundation for that years ago when they were toddlers and my husband and I worked nearly every day. Back then, if they needed me, I pushed away from my office desk and gave them my full attention.

I was the one who broke that foundation, and I was going to be the one to put it back together.

Simply by being an active listener immediately brought us closer together and healed the rifts faster than I had smashed them. I may not be perfect, but I can practice at doing things better, and redeem myself in my kids’ eyes a little bit every day.