Hello, Mommy Guilt Speaking.

Today is supposed to be a review of some sort, according to my schedule on the edge of my blog. However, since I posted two in the last two days, I am going to take today to vent. This means you should stop reading if you don’t want to hear it.

Today I am struggling as a mommy, as a wife, as everything. I woke up in the early morning hours surrounded by this feeling of frustration and bitterness. It started by thinking about my last job, in which I worked as a contract employee for the state. I was doing something I loved, I mean I LOVED this job. I had a passion for my clients and I honestly wanted to see them succeed. I spent many hours in which I did not get paid thinking about my clients, talking on the phone with them, praying for them, and seeking out services for them. I still, after having left this job, think about my clients and what they are doing.

So, you might ask why I left if I loved my job so much. Well, simply put, money. I worked hours upon hours at this job, and it was about 2 1/2 months before I received my first check, then it wasn’t even all my hours. Because of this issue our family got behind on a few things, and we are now struggling to catch up.  I understand that the state is overworked and understaffed. I get that. But somewhere along the way in this process, someone is failing at their job.

And there I sat this morning frustrated and irritated because I am still waiting on one last paycheck. So from that frustration comes more frustration, as a result of thinking (something that should never be done in the early morning hours). So, when it was time to wake up the rest of my house, my attitude was already soured. I began my morning in a bad mood. I scorned my son for things that he didn’t get accomplished and lectured him on personal responsibility. We got in the car and drove across town, with more lecturing.

Then sitting at a stoplight, there it was staring me in the face… guilt and sadness. And in that moment God tugged on my heart, “say you are sorry. He is only 8, he is but a small child.” I reached back and grabbed my sons hand, and with a lump in my throat I uttered the words, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Please forgive me.” My son, with tears in his eyes now, said, “I love you mom.”

As I watched my son get out of the car at school, a piece of my heart crushed just a little. How could he, at such a young age, understand forgiveness? And how could I, as his mother, have made his morning so miserable? Ugh… mommy guilt!!! It’s the worst.


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