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The Village of Motherhood

I listened to a Mom speak mean words to her child the other day. We were in a public setting and I heard her words clearly. Her frustration, her exhaustion, were on display. What she said doesn't really matter, it's the fact that she said it unguarded, without pretense, just ugly and real. Oh so real.

I was raised to keep your ugly to yourself. Pretend everything is fine until it is fine. I am not condoning what that mother said, but I am not judging her either. I have no idea how hard her day had been up till then. I don't know what she was or is struggling with. I don't know her, therefore I will not judge her.

I hope she realized later how harsh her words were. I hope she took the opportunity to show her child how important it is for adults to apologize as well as children. I hope that it was not her finest moment as a mom, but I refuse to judge her.

It's not my place.

My largest short coming as a mom is that I yell. I hate it. I am ashamed of it. It is something I work on over and over. Yet I fail over and over. I don't know why I struggle with it so much.

I have never screamed at my children in public. I have been short with them or firm, but never has anyone heard me let loose the roar that hurts my throat that I have done in private.

If I can keep my calm in public, there is no reason I cannot do the same in our home.

This is a shameful thing for me. I hope you don't judge me for it. I hope that by putting it out there, you see that I am imperfect, but that doesn't mean I am a bad mom.

It doesn't mean you are either.

If you have tried to fix your flaw repeatedly, if you have read all the books, listened to all the podcasts, talked to a therapist, and still your ugly keeps coming back, you are human.

You are trying and that is a good, beautiful thing. I don't want to hide my ugly and let another hurting mama see me and think I have it all together.

I write, not because I am perfect and full of wisdom, but because I am working to be better. There is so much better that I can be, that I can do, and I will continue to uplift myself to get there. I will not shame myself into thinking that because I messed up again, that trying is futile. It's not.

I was raised by wonderful, kind women in my life. My Mom, Aunts, Grandmothers, all of them were/are beautiful examples of how to be a good mother and even with all of that support, I still make a giant mess of motherhood.

How could I possibly judge any other woman, especially one who may never have had a decent role model. I had great role models and I still struggle immensely.

We are stronger when we encourage one another to be our best selves. We are stronger yet when we allow each other to bare our ugly and have the grace to say, 'me too'.

I will continue to see moments like the other day and say a prayer for that mom, not because I think I am better, but because I want to support her. I believe that the answer is in loving one another and walking alongside each other.

Todays failure does not define me and it does not define you. Standing back up and trying again is what defines you.

With love,
faithful with the little: Seeing homemaking as a labor of love instead of drudgery- With FREE PRINTABLE!

You are Enough 
When Ugly bubbles over
Simple ideas for Home


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Earlier this year I spoke at a conference. I talked about gratitude, grace and joy. I was fully immersed in it and felt it down to my toes.

Then life got turned upside down and busy and somehow I forgot everything.

The last month or so has been a mess. I hate the rush of summer and the vortex that results and sucks up every minute and shreds my plans. I have let it consume me. I have been wallowing in self pity.

It all bubbled up and exploded last week when I threw a tantrum and in an attempt to keep from yelling I kicked the wall. My house that I love, that I built with my hands, that I poured myself into; I kicked it and put a hole in the wall and injured my foot.

It was stupid. The tantrum was stupid. I feel stupid.

But even more than that, I am angry at myself. I am angry that I allowed myself to get to the point that I would act that way.

I wasn't being grateful, I wasn't practicing grace and I certainly was no where near feeling joy.

I wanted my children and my husband t…