Ask Molly Series: Your Parenting Story Isn’t Written in Your Worst Moment

Molly Carew Pope, EdS, I/ECMH-C

Dear Molly,

I always imagined I'd be a calm, patient mom. I love my children more than anything, but motherhood has brought out a side of me I don't recognize. I find myself yelling more than I ever thought I would, and afterward I'm crushed with guilt. I worry that these moments are becoming my children's childhood memories and that I'm doing permanent damage to our relationship. I always apologize, but sometimes I wonder if apologies even matter when it keeps happening. How do I know if I'm hurting my kids, and if I am, how do I start repairing the relationship?

What a wholehearted and vulnerable question. Beneath it is a fear I hear from so many parents: What if my worst moments become my child's childhood? Many of us imagined we'd be calm, patient parents. Then real life arrived. Parenting brings unimaginable joy, but it can also bring exhaustion, overstimulation, and reactivity unlike anything we've experienced before. We didn't know what we didn't know. Parenting is hard not just because of what it asks us to do. It's hard because of what it asks us to face in ourselves. The person you're often in a battle with isn't your child. It's the version of yourself that shows up when you're overwhelmed, running on empty, or stretched beyond your capacity.

So let me offer four truths that I hope every parent carries with them.

First, your child isn't keeping score. They're building a relationship with you. Children don't experience us as a collection of isolated moments. They're learning, over thousands of ordinary interactions, what to expect from us. When I need you, do you usually come back? Can I count on you? Am I safe with you? One difficult moment matters. It can feel scary and confusing. But children build secure relationships not because nothing hard ever happens, but because they experience love, comfort, and reconnection over and over again. 

Second, children don't need perfection. They need repair. Children don't just remember what happened. They create a story about what happened. Repair helps write the right story. Without repair, a child may conclude, Mom is scary. This must have been my fault. I have to be careful around her. With repair, the story changes: Mom lost her temper. She noticed. She came back. We found each other again. One of the greatest gifts we can give our children isn't the absence of mistakes. It's showing them that relationships are like rubber bands. They stretch, and with care, they come back together.

Third, children need your accountability, not your guilt. Parents often confuse feeling terrible with repairing. They're different. Guilt tells us we've acted outside of our values. Shame tells us something is wrong with us. Neither heals the relationship. Accountability does. Accountability sounds like, "I yelled. That probably felt scary. That wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. Next time I'm going to take a break before my voice gets that loud." Notice where the focus is. Not on how badly you feel, but on helping your child make sense of what happened and feel safe again.

Finally, your parenting story isn't written in your worst moment. It's written by what you do next. One moment doesn't define a childhood. Patterns do. That doesn't mean yelling doesn't matter. We don't want to normalize frightening or shaming interactions. But we also don't need to believe that one hard moment has permanently damaged a loving relationship. Children are remarkably resilient when the adults who love them are willing to notice, take responsibility, and reconnect.

So take a breath and let this all sink in. The parents who ask questions like yours are often the ones changing the story. They are reflecting instead of defending. They are taking responsibility instead of pretending nothing happened. They’re growing alongside their children. 

Your children will have memories of hard moments. Every child does. But what shapes them most is what they come to expect. That after the hard moments, you'll notice. You'll come back. You'll repair. Over time, they learn in their bodies that relationships can weather mistakes, their feelings matter, and that they are deeply loved. And maybe, over time, you'll begin to believe that about yourself, too.