I am a mother to a 4.8-year-old girl.
And often… I feel like I am not a good mom.
I don’t know if other mothers feel this way.
But some days, the guilt sits heavy on my chest.
It’s just my husband and me managing everything at home. We both work full-time. He goes to the office; I work remotely.
He is incredibly supportive. We share responsibilities — cooking, cleaning, caring for our daughter. He has never left me alone in this journey. Because of him, I have been able to build and sustain my career after becoming a mother.
If not for his support, I wouldn’t have had the courage to continue working.
Since moving to Vadodara, I spend almost 20 hours a day with my daughter.
And she imitates everything I do.
There are beautiful things she picks up from me.
But there’s a darker side too.
My temper.
My tone.
My impatience.
My harsh words.
Before becoming a mother, I was never around babies much. I didn’t know how to raise one. Some days I manage well. But most days, I am strict — too strict.
I scold her when she spills food.
I scold her when she stains her dress.
I scold her when she runs, jumps, shouts — when she behaves like a child.
If she isn’t disciplined, I raise my voice.
If she has a runny nose, I get irritated.
I ask her to wash her hands repeatedly.
I keep telling her how I want her to behave — forgetting that she is just four.
She is a sweet child. If I tell her I have work, she quietly lets me finish it. She adjusts more than she should.
But for me, it is never enough.
I expect perfection.
And that expectation turns into anger.
Some days, when she comes to me with excitement, I yell. I scream. I say things in frustration that I regret later.
Sometimes she goes silent and walks away.
Hours later, I realize what I’ve done. I go to her. I talk to her.
But she has already forgiven me.
She speaks sweetly. She hugs me like nothing happened.
And that hurts even more.
I wanted a remote job so I could spend more time with her.
Now I fear I’m making her life harder instead.
I had a painful childhood.
I don’t have a single happy memory from it. It was filled with humiliation, insults, comparisons.
I promised myself my daughter would never experience that.
Yet when I get angry, I hear echoes of my own childhood in my words.
If she stains her clothes or wears something torn, I sometimes call her a beggar in anger. I say she isn’t fit to sit near me.
Even writing this feels unbearable.
Because I don’t mean it.
I love her deeply.
But when I am overwhelmed, I don’t know how to pause. I don’t know how to soften my tone. I don’t know how to explain gently. I get tired. I want her to understand my mood instead of me managing it.
And sometimes, I feel like a horrible mother.
But maybe I’m not horrible.
Maybe I’m overwhelmed.
Maybe I’m carrying unresolved wounds.
Maybe I need help.
And maybe saying this out loud is the first step.
Breaking the Pattern Before It Breaks Her
Maybe I am not a horrible mother.
Maybe I am a mother who is still healing.
I cannot change the childhood I had.
But I can choose the childhood I create for her.
I may have shouted yesterday.
I may have used words I regret.
But today, I can pause.
Today, I can say sorry faster.
Today, I can choose one gentle sentence instead of one harsh one.
Today, I can hug her before correcting her.
I am beginning to understand that discipline does not need humiliation.
Correction does not need comparison.
And love should never feel conditional.
My daughter is not my checklist.
She is not my unfinished healing project.
She is a little human who deserves safety — especially from my anger.
If I could survive my childhood and still choose love,
then I can also choose to parent differently.
I don’t need to be a perfect mother.
I need to be a mother who is willing to grow.
And maybe that is enough for today.
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