Tonight, I really hate being a parent. I resent my job duty that requires me to put on a brave face when all I want to do is roll into a ball and cry. I don’t like having to be strong when the little ones around me are coming unglued, when what I really want to do is come unglued with them.
I hate having to say, “It’s okay” when things really aren’t okay. When what I really want to say is “I’M SO FRUSTRATED,” but I can’t because it will break their little hearts.
I am, by nature, a pretty selfish person. Truly. I hate not getting my way; after all, I am the baby in my own family of origin. So having to rise above and be the mature, responsible presence in my kids’ lives sometimes makes me want to run screaming from the house. As a parent, I am FAR from having things figured out. Heck, I can hardly figure out what to feed the kids for dinner, much less know how to navigate their deep-seated emotional fears.
Dear God, how do I handle all of this? How do I get outside myself for the good of someone else? How do I persevere when every cell in my body wants to throw in the towel? How can I cause courage to spontaneously combust in a heart that is wet with fear and heaviness? And how exactly did I get myself into this parenting thing? I am unqualified and crappy at this job, and so afraid I’m going to screw them up for life. And then they’ll screw up their kids, and it’ll take three generations to undo the knot I’m creating.
Please don’t leave me to do this alone, God. Fill in for me when my parenting skills just aren’t enough. Instill long-term faith in me when my short-sightedness can’t see past today. Help me to show my babies grace and mercy when they don’t deserve it, the same way You do for me. Every. Single. Day. Amen.