All the parenting books in all the world can’t prepare you for the emotions that rise up when your child screams at you, slams the door, and yells, “I don’t want to see you anymore!”

I want to help her. But I don’t know how. So I sit on my side of the door. And wait.  And listen.

“Get away!” she hollers, and my ears are throbbing. It feels like they could bleed at what she says.

My own childhood memories are resurrected. They only stay quiet for so long. Because it’s not the first time I’ve heard those words. It’s not the first time I’ve curled up on my side of the door. It’s not the first time I’ve listened to the voice of someone I love screaming.

Screaming.

So I get up from my side of the door.

I go to a quiet place to think, to pray, to be alone with my thoughts.

“Dear God, help me show love,” I beg Him, alone in my room. Can He hear me over the pounding of my own heart? 

Should I go back and try to comfort her? What’s the point? She just needs to finish her tantrum, get her cry out. There’s nothing I can do to help anyway.

“Nothing I can do to help” . . . those words are familiar, too. I will my hands to stop shaking as I wipe sweaty palms on my jeans.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. And listen. It’s quiet here. I can hear the birds outside my window. Maybe I’ll stay.

It’s tempting to hide on my side of the door until it’s all over. And maybe for a while after.

Like I learned long ago.

RELATED: Mommy’s Hidden Monster: Parenting with PTSD

I shake my head, I shake myself. Out of my memories. Out of my thoughts.

No. Today is not yesterday. Today is a new day. And today is a good day.

Today, my daughter needs me.

Something inside says, go to her. I know it’s Him. The One who gives love when I’m empty. Can He give love even today? When I’m not only empty but exhausted?

Decades-old memories can be exhausting sometimes.

When I stand up, my heart is quiet. And I know He heard me. Maybe He came even closer because my heart was pounding.

I walk slowly to her room. She’s still kicking the floor, still blocking the door.

“Can I come in?” She says nothing but moves aside. So in I creep. And I sit down, this time on her side of the door. 

Her tantrum lasts a while longer. I don’t remember what it’s about anymore. Is it because I put cheese on her eggs? Or because I told her ballet was canceled today?

It doesn’t matter. She’s five. It’s hard to be five.

For some reason, I know I shouldn’t leave her to cry it out. Not today. But what’s the point of staying? She won’t look at me, won’t talk to me.

She’s getting louder, again. So I get quieter. I’ve learned, over the years, when I don’t know what to do, to do the opposite. 

“Leave me alone!” she yells.

I’m here because I love you,” I whisper.

She’s crying fast, loud.

I take deep, slow breaths. And I know Jesus is with me. 

He’s the reason I can be the mom she needs, the peace in her storm, the quiet to her crazy, the smile to her tears. He’s the reason I can be different.

Finally, she’s exhausted. She comes to me, weeping quietly.  “I’m sorry, mama,” she whispers.

I take her in my arms and carry her to the rocking chair, where she melts into my lap. She snuggles up so small, like when she was a tiny baby. I smooth her hair backit’s curled and damp.

And I rock her, back and forth, and pray. I can’t fix the cheesy eggs or the canceled ballet or whatever it was that got to her. But I can be the adult, I can let go of the triggers that got to me. And I can be here with her.

And the point of it all was to get to this point with her in my armsmelted, loved.

RELATED: One Day I’ll Tell Her About the Healing

From where does it come? Only one place, I know. There’s only One who can heal the far-distant past. Only One who turns pain into love.

And my mentors have told me to forgive. They told me about trusting God.

But they never told me my past would heal when I loved you.

We rock and remain there a little longer. Back and forth. Her tutu is wrinkled. Her tears are on my sleeve. She’s almost asleep. Today is healed. And so are my memories.

Healed by the One who said, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love” (John 15:9).

Originally published on the author’s blog

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Laura Costea

Laura Costea is the author of "The Inheritance," a novel about faith, family, and small-town life. She is passionate about Jesus, the outdoors, and strong cups of coffee. Laura is blessed to live in Idaho with her husband and four young children. You can find her online at www.howtobless.com.

I Have Anxiety and Depression—and I’m a Good Mom

In: Faith, Motherhood
I Have Anxiety and Depression—and I'm a Good Mom www.herviewfromhome.com

My name is Lauren. I have depression. And I’m a good mom.   It took me a few months to be able to tell what it was. I was withdrawn. Sad. Uninterested. Joy stripped. Resentful. It took everything I had in me to get out of bed in the morning, let alone take care of the kids. I was alone in my sorrow, and drowning in my shame. I knew that something needed to change. My name is Lauren. I have depression. I take my antidepressant. And because of it, I’m a better mom It took me a few months...

Keep Reading

I Love My Kids, But They Trigger My Anxiety

In: Motherhood
Kids running in living room

I have anxiety. Looking back, I suppose I always have. The tightening in my chest. Irritability over little things. Unfounded worries. And at its worst, the impossible feeling of wanting to crawl right out of my skin . . . these woes have been my constant companions. For most of my life, I assumed all of it was just a normal part of the human experience, so I brushed the anxious feelings off as best I could. Then I became a mom. Times three. Suddenly, my anxiety intensified to the point where it was impossible to ignore.  Because while motherhood...

Keep Reading

I Know How to Give Grace to Everyone But Myself

In: Journal, Living
I'm Always There For Her—But She Refuses To Be There For Me www.herviewfromhome.com

I’m struggling to fully heal from some hurt. What’s making it worse is that one particular person knows I’m flailing and her response has been to pull away from me. She’s leery, I guess, afraid I need too much from her. She’s fixated on the past and what I needed at the onset of my pain—because at this point, I’ve sworn all I really need from her is some grace. And she won’t give it to me. At most, she’ll occasionally dole out vapory dregs of acceptance that barely register, hardly count. What the heck is her problem with me?...

Keep Reading