It took 10 minutes to find a pair of socks my toddler would allow me to put on his feet this morning.

If you think I’m exaggerating, you should see his room. Instead of toys and books, socks are currently covering his floor. Sesame Street socks. Paw Patrol socks. Plain socks. Colorful socks. Everywhere . . . socks. 

Typically, I give him a couple of options, and he just picks one. But this morning, nothing was good enough. At one point during the sock storm, I finally got fed up. As he screamed and threw another pair on the floor, I raised my voice.

“I don’t know what you want from me right now!”

I immediately wanted to take it back, and the scared look he gave me made me feel even worse.

We eventually settled on fuzzy blue socks, which he said were “so soft.” He ran out of his bedroom with a huge smile on his face like the past 10 minutes hadn’t happened. Like Mommy yelling at him didn’t happen. But it did.

Even though he was fine, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was a bad mom for yelling at my son over socks.

I wish this morning was the first time I had felt like a bad mom, but that came when he was only a day old.

The anesthesia after my C-section made me incredibly nauseous. In all of the adrenaline and excitement, I didn’t notice it as much the day he was born. The next day, I was doubled over in the hospital bed.

But the worst pain was not being able to breastfeed my newborn.

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The nurses told me not to worry—that everything would be fine. They would give him formula until I had enough strength to 1) eat something and 2) hold him through a feeding.

It didn’t feel fine to me. I felt like I had already failed him.

It’s only been 21 months from then to now, but I’ve had more bad mom feelings than I can count.

I’ve missed ear infections. I’ve called a pediatrician in tears because I couldn’t figure things out by myself. I’ve apologized because my child bit a friend at daycare (and again and again). I’ve slammed plates of wasted food into the sink after the third day in a row of him refusing to eat anything for dinner. I’ve cried myself to sleep at night because I knew I reacted in ways that day that my son didn’t deserve.

In my heart, I know I’m a good mom, but bad mom feelings can be all-consuming.

If you’re reading this right now and you can relate, let me be the person who tells you today . . . 

You are still a good mom.

To the mom out there who lost your temper this morning . . .

You are still a good mom.

To the mom who is currently at the doctor because you’re at a loss . . .

You are still a good mom.

To the mom who keeps apologizing to your child’s teachers . . .

You are still a good mom.

To the mom who is tired of watching your food fly across the kitchen . . .

You are still a good mom. You’re feeding them (or trying at least).

To the mom who left your baby crying in one room while you went to cry in another . . .

You are still a good mom. You did the right thing by separating yourself and collecting yourself.

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To the mom who feels like you’re at your wit’s end but can’t quite pinpoint why . . .

You are still a good mom. Take a deep breath. Being a mom is overwhelming, but you are not alone.

Good moms who have bad mom feelings are everywhere. We’re in different stages of life. We have kids of different ages. And each of those stages and ages comes with a different learning curve—not just for our kids but for us moms as well.

But all of us have been made by God for everything we’re facing.

He chose you to be the mom of your specific children. He designed you to be the mom they would need.

So to the mom who second-guesses every decision and worries she’s not cut out for this?

Yes, you will make mistakes. Yes, there will be moments you wish you could take back. But you are most definitely still a good mom. Your desire to be the best mom you can be makes you a great mom.

Trust yourself. And trust the God who made you a mom. He knew what he was doing.

Christina Egbert

I am "Mama" to a beautiful little boy who is always running around the house . . . while I try not to be too far behind (mentally and physically).  My husband and I met when we were in middle school together; he asked me on our first date nine years later. As someone who works in marketing for higher education, I know the importance of a person's story. I hope that you enjoy mine.