A Real-Mom Reflection for the Hard Moments

As you read this, it's okay if some of the descriptions don't describe your reality yet. Give yourself grace, allow yourself to be comforted knowing that you will grow these things in time. Go ahead and let yourself take in this new idea of how you can see yourself--the skills you can grow, and the habits you can step into.

Today, my child is growing in emotional awareness and skill. Since this is a day that ends in “y,” there’s a good chance that it may involve an outburst, disobedience, or an action that feels like disrespect to me.

This can be hard for ANYONE to respond to gracefully. I am certainly not alone! Even professionals in the parenting realm–people who teach others how to navigate this role– have confessed that they, too, struggle on a daily basis to stay composed. Becoming an adult doesn’t mean we are expected to have mastered all situations in life; becoming a parent is simply the beginning of another stage of learning an entirely new set of skills. When we were young, learning to be patient meant waiting in line next to other polite friends in order to have a turn. As a parent, it means continuing to fulfill my responsibilities and think the best of others whilst listening to someone scream for 30 minutes and discovering that all progress I’ve made has been undone.

I will give myself grace. I’m leveling up at adulting! A smile spreads across my face as I realize how far I’ve come in this journey.

In the past, when big emotions surfaced in my child, my mind would leap years into the future, fearing that what’s hard today will always be hard. But today I am walking beside still waters, remembering that all skills take time to learn. I imagine the gentle ripple of water, the breeze on my face, the warmth of sunlight on my skin, the security that comes from knowing all is going according to plan, and there is no need to fret. I don’t worry when my child wobbles on a bike or is nervous putting their face underwater to swim—because I know that with practice, children will master such skills so completely that they become a favorite activity!

TODAY I remember all day long that emotional growth is no different. I carry that same calm confidence with me as we navigate these moments together. I feel so proud of myself knowing that I’m a parent who offers calm in moments that could so easily spin into anger and shame.

I know that my child sometimes displays big feelings, and when they do, I remember that we are in no rush. We have these precious years together—years designed for learning and growing, not for perfection. I don’t need to fear or fix everything right away. God is in control. There is nothing I can do to improve or derail His plan. I feel peace rise in me like the golden light of dawn filling a quiet room.

I do not rush the process. Instead, I remain a sturdy rock for my child. Always at the front of my mind is the awareness that God put me here intentionally, with the sacred role of modeling emotional strength and grace. No matter what life (or my child) throws at me, I show how to stay kind, even in frustration. How to choose calm, even when it’s hard. I am always so proud of myself for choosing love again—not just because it’s right, but because it brings peace. Because I feel better after this kind of choice, and anything less is seldom very productive anyway.

Today might bring such “opportunities for growth” as watching my child walk on a library book, being left at the table with everyone’s dirty dishes, or listening to my child scream over a toy. But I don’t take it personally; I don’t get ruffled. I notice my irritation, and I am grateful when I also feel an inner nudge, reminding me in a whisper: “Hey.  They are having a rough moment. Give them support and assurance. Look at them with understanding eyes. Remember that you’ve had your own habits that took years to develop or break. It will take them time, too. Set this aside for a minute, turn to God, and ask Him to show you how to handle it.”

I pause and pray: Lord, show me how to handle this with love.

Then, I start with safety; validating my child’s feelings and reminding them of my love for them. The Bible says that “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us,” and I stay strong in my job to show my child that even when they feel unlovable, I love them! I tell them, “I see that this felt very upsetting! What you’re saying makes sense. You are safe now. We are in this together.” A warmth spreads in my chest as I say these words, knowing that love is getting through, even if slowly.

I help my sweet little one through this moment that feels like chaos inside their little body. I love holding them. I love running my hand through their tangled hair. A deep sense of peace fills me. I feel joy in my body when their arms wrap around mine—this is connection, and it’s beautiful. I have so much peace, knowing that later, when the storm has subsided, we can talk about strategies for addressing the situation, and they will be able to take it in.

I am not a helicopter hovering—I am a steady, rooted foundation. A safe place. A gentle guide. A living example of what it looks like to manage emotions with wisdom and love. Whether my child collapses into my arms or resists the comfort I offer, I stay grounded, knowing that underneath it all, they know they can come to me when they are ready. This love, this patience—it’s the gift I give. And it is enough.

I take a deep breath in through my nose, and I remember Isaiah 43:18–19, which tells me to: "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."And I remember Romans 8:28, which tells me that He is working all things together for my good. A wave of peace rolls through me, soft and steady. I feel so good letting go of the pressure to do it all; experiencing freedom from expecting my child to make me look good or feel successful. I trust God in this. I let shame dissolve like mist in sunlight. I feel it evaporate under the warmth of truth. And I remember—sometimes, God’s goodness is hidden in what feels like mess. 

I smile, even now, thinking of the lice. The lice that once kept Nazi soldiers away from prisoners. The lice that God used as a shield. If He can use lice to protect His children, He can certainly use this tantrum, this hardship, this dinner-table standoff.

So I give thanks in this moment—strange and sacred. I don’t know what He’s doing, but I know He is doing something. I look for the ways He might be using this situation for good! Perhaps another mom will relate to this challenging phase, and we will bond over this moment, and she will become a treasured, life-long friend! Perhaps my child’s strong will is a gift in disguise—a sign of a spirit not easily swayed, a soul of integrity and courage.

Sometimes these outbursts happen in public. Even if others are watching, even if whispers of shame try to rise up, I quiet them with the truth: Perfect love casts out fear. (1 John 4:18) This moment is not about appearances — it is about love. Real love. Patient love. I do not have to prove anything. I do not have to be flawless. What I offer now — calm, grounded love — is enough. It brings me peace. It brings me pride. It brings me confidence. I feel good knowing I chose steady love, even when it was hard— when it would have been easier to give in, lash out, or look away. I’m doing something most people struggle to do: holding firm with compassion, guiding gently without shame.

And I know—I’m only able to do this because God is helping me. His Spirit steadies me when my patience wears thin. His grace flows through me, even in the mess. I feel strong, not because I have it all together, but because I am anchored in the One who does.

I choose to use this moment to bless the people watching—by allowing them to see me in a hard moment, a holy moment,  when all I can do is accept God’s grace. I do not panic. I do not hide. I stand in love.