Teaching Emotional Regulation While Losing Mine
I remember one day so clearly—it was like my nine- and five-year-old made it their life's mission to test every ounce of my patience before lunch.
The noise was relentless. The dogs were tearing through the house like they were competing in the Indy 500, with zero regard for speed limits or furniture; cartoons droned, and someone banged a cabinet door.
"Mom!" felt like it came from every direction at once, like a broken intercom. The sink was full, the floor and kitchen table were sticky, and every step felt like walking over crumbs.
Crunch crunch crunch.
Ugh. These kids today. I swear.
I tried to sit, but the moment I did, someone needed a snack, a referee, or both. The air felt heavy with sound and motion. My pulse thudded in my ears, my jaw ached from clenching, and my chest tightened until breathing felt like an effort.
And then…
I snapped.
"STOP IT. NO MORE FIGHTING. I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE TODAY!"
I locked myself in the bathroom to breathe, only to come out and find them fighting again. That was it. I lost it. I called my husband, crying because I couldn't do it anymore, and I needed help.
He came home so I could get out for a while—because honestly, I needed a break from being "Mom."
What I didn't realize then was how closely my kids were watching…how closely they're always watching.
Now, months and months later, I see it. When they're upset, they storm off. Argue or walk away.
Just like me.
Just like their dad.
We didn't teach them that on purpose. It's simply what they saw.
Somewhere along the way, they picked up on our way of coping—walking off, shutting down—and it made me stop and think.
Maybe they didn't just learn it from watching us. Perhaps we never knew any other way. It hit me that I wasn't just teaching them; I was still unlearning, too.
I grew up not really knowing how to handle emotions—how to feel something big without turning it inward or letting it explode outward. So now, as an adult, I'm learning right alongside my kids. We're figuring it out together in real time.
That means there's a lot of apologizing.
I mean…there has to be.
A lot of forgiveness.
A lot of sitting together on the couch after the storm and talking about what happened.
Sometimes I tell them, "Mom's still learning how to do this, too."
Because it's true.
I'm not teaching from a place of mastery, but I do have an opinion based on my experience.
From the messy, honest, doing-my-best.
Parenting didn't come with a manual, you know…
Learning from your own mistakes,
Or choosing not to,
it will make or break you.
And that's the hard, sacred part of parenting—breaking patterns you never chose but still carried.
Teaching emotional regulation when you're still figuring out what regulation even feels like.
Reparenting yourself while you parent your kids.
But I'll tell you what my kids have taught me: they reflect me.
Every eye roll, every sharp tone—it's a mirror I didn't ask for, but one I probably needed.
They show me where I need to soften. Where I still need healing.
And they remind me that growth doesn't mean getting it right the first time; it means coming back, again and again, even after you've lost it and trying again.
So when I see my kids storm off now, I try to remember—they're not broken. They're learning.
Just like me.
And together, we're building something new.
So, in my brutally honest opinion—teaching emotional regulation while barely hanging on to mine?
It's a hard maybe.
Some days I hold it together, some days I come apart at the seams. Most days, it hinges on caffeine levels and the current "Mom!" count before breakfast. But no matter how it starts, I get up and try again.
How do you teach calm when your own heart still forgets how to slow down?
