When You Feel Like the Wicked Witch of the Westside of Your Home

It was a Saturday and the day had been going fairly well. Weather was nice. There wasn’t a lot to do and the kids and I had spent most of the day together. Nothing about that day seemed like dinner prep was going to include me fighting through tears. What do you do when your kids make you feel like The Wicked Witch of the Westside of Your Home? One minute you’re their favorite person in the world and the next they’re staring you down with an imaginary bucket of water in their hand.

Back to Saturday. I honestly can’t remember all the details, but something happened that left me feeling unappreciated and questioning my parenting. Do I expect too much? Am I too hard? I work so hard, but maybe it’s not enough. Maybe I should just let them eat junk food and watch TV all day. Wait, that can’t be right.

I feel really silly now thinking about it, but I really did feel hurt and discouraged at the moment. In the midst of all the emotions and doubt, I received a text from a friend and managed to reply and squeeze in a quick mention of how I was feeling. Her reply reminding me of my kids limited capacity to understand was exactly what I needed. I mean, of course. Duh. What was I thinking? They’re kids. They’re supposed to get mad or upset when they don’t get their way. They’re supposed to want to eat all the cookies and ice cream they want. I know I do. It’s my job to teach them boundaries and morals until they can develop their own.

“They’ll appreciate it when they’re older,” my wise friend reminds me. Suddenly, the weight is lifted off my shoulders and I realize God heard my prayers and granted me the peace I needed. I finished dinner and we ended up continuing to enjoy the evening. Later that night, I found a way to talk to my daughters about feeling hurt when they are disrespectful and complain. I wanted to communicate vulnerably, but I worried about saying too much, confusing them, or worse burdening them with guilt. I welcomed them to talk to me about anything they felt was bothering them. To my surprise, the conversation turned out to be a bonding moment. They apologized, but also asked if I could take notice and acknowledge the things they do right. After a quick recovery from that punch in the gut, we hugged and said our Good Nights.

Turns out I’m not the Wicked Witch, just perhaps a misunderstood Elphaba.