As most people do, I have happy memories of childhood and some not-so happy memories.
My parents loved one another and stuck together through some extremely difficult times. My grandparents were always present at special occasions, and we visited with them often, but just like every family, we had issues. For us, those problems came in the form of verbal abuse, codependency, and rage. I don’t think that anyone intended to be overly-critical or unpredictable emotionally, but these characteristics defined their childhoods and became a part of their personalities, which was reflected in the fabric of our family.
The making of me
Unfortunately, the constant fluxes had a detrimental effect on who I was becoming, and by the time I reached the sixth grade with preteen hormones revving up, I was an emotional mess. I can remember moments when I thought no one would ever love me. When I was angry, I was extremely angry and would not hesitate to hit my brother… hard. I was even self-abusive. I would yell and scream just as I had seen displayed by family members so often in previous years.
As a young adult, most of my aggression turned inward, and it was not until I became a parent that I saw those tendencies towards rage and verbal abuse begin to rear their ugliness in my life again.
The mother of rage
I have a very distinct memory of changing Lira’s diaper. She was about 16 months old and was trying to roll away from me. I snapped and popped her bare bottom. The red welt was a vivid admission that I was losing control of who I was and who God wanted me to be. I asked my husband to leave and take her with him. He refused, committing to help me overcome this sin carried down generation after generation.
As I struggled to recover from being a rage-o-holic with my supportive husband by my side, the number of victories grew but moments of anger still studded a few of our days. I would fly into a rage and then experience tremendous guilt, curling into a ball in the corner of the kitchen and weeping over the emotional harm I was causing my family. However, I could not wallow in self-pity for long because I needed to remain consistent in my battle against the angry monster inside.
A promise of hope
Over the next few weeks, I plan to outline the steps I use to overcome “Mommy Rage.” I am not an expert and my advice cannot be considered a replacement for professional therapy. I am just a wife, a mom, a daughter, a Christian… trying to submit my heart and mind to the will of God and to break the chain of rage and verbal abuse that has been handed down through the generations.
You can expect complete honesty, and I ask you to pray for me because this is the hardest thing I have ever tried to write. However, because I believe that mommy rage is a hidden epidemic, I feel my story must be told.
I also want you to know that I am praying for you, the mom who is struggling just as I am. You are not alone and I want to take you by the hand and walk this path with you. Feel free to EMAIL ME if you are too embarrassed to leave a comment.
More from this series ~
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