“The important thing about my mom is … she’s always there for me, even when I get in trouble.”

That was the first line of my 9-year-old daughter’s Mother’s Day poem—and I couldn’t stop the tears.

You see, it hasn’t always been this way.

In the midst of my highly distracted life, I started a new practice that was quite different from the way I behaved up until that point. I became a yeller. It wasn’t often, but it was extreme—like an overloaded balloon that suddenly pops and makes everyone in earshot startle with fear.

What was it about my then 3-year-old and 6-year-old children that caused me to lose it? Was it how she insisted on running off to get her favorite pink sunglasses when we were already late? Was it that she tried to pour her own cereal and dumped the entire box on the kitchen counter? Was it that she fought sleep like a prizefighter when I needed peace and quiet the most? Was it that the two of them fought over ridiculous things like who would be first out of the car or who got the biggest dip of ice cream?

Yes, it was those things—normal mishaps and typical kid issues and attitudes that irritated me to the point of losing control.

That is not an easy sentence to write. Nor is this an easy time in my life to relive because truth be told, I hated myself in those moments. What had become of me that I needed to scream at two precious little people I loved more than life?

Let me tell you what had become of me.

My distractions.

Excessive phone use, commitment overload, multiple page to-do lists, and the pursuit of perfection consumed me. And yelling at the people I loved was a direct result of the loss of control I was feeling in my life.

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Inevitably, I had to fall apart somewhere. So I fell apart behind closed doors in the company of the people who meant the most to me.

Until one fateful day.

My oldest daughter had gotten out a stool and was reaching for something in the pantry when she accidentally dumped an entire bag of rice on the floor. As a million tiny grains pelleted the floor like rain, my child’s eyes welled up with tears. And that’s when I saw it—the fear in her eyes as she braced herself for her mother’s tirade.

She’s scared of me, I thought with the most painful realization imaginable. My five-year-old child is scared of my reaction to her innocent mistake.

With deep sorrow, I realized that was not the mother I wanted my children to grow up with, nor was it how I wanted to live the rest of my life.

Shortly thereafter, I began scaling back on the excess and electronic distraction in my life. I freed myself from the unachievable standard of perfection and societal pressure to “do it all.” With a lightened load, I was able to react to my children’s mistakes and wrongdoings in a more calm, compassionate, and reasonable manner.

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I said things like, “It’s just chocolate syrup. Just wipe it up and the counter will be as good as new.”

(Instead of expelling an exasperated sigh and an eye roll for good measure.)

I offered to hold the broom while she swept up a sea of Cheerios that covered the floor.

(Instead of standing over her with a look of disapproval and utter annoyance.)

I helped her think through where she might have set down her glasses.

(Instead of shaming her for being so irresponsible.)

Over time, the fear that once flared in my children’s eyes when they were in trouble disappeared. And, thank goodness, I became a haven in their times of trouble—instead of the enemy from which to run and hide.

I am not sure I would have thought about this profound transformation had I not recently lost three chapters of the book I am writing. Although I felt like raging over the loss of such painstaking work, I had to pick my children up from school. “I’m having a little trouble talking right now. I lost part of my book. And I don’t want to talk because I feel very frustrated,” I said quietly when they got in the car.

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The children and I went about our day and although I was more quiet than usual, I didn’t yell. Finally, the day was almost done. As I tucked my 9-year-old daughter into bed, she quietly asked, “Do you think you will get your chapters back?”

And that’s when I started to cry.

To my surprise, my child reached out and stroked my hair softly and spoke words of comfort and reassurance. In my time of “trouble,” there she was, a patient and compassionate encourager who wouldn’t think of kicking me when I was already down.

My child would not have learned this empathetic response if I had remained a yeller. Because yelling shuts down the communication; it severs the bond; it causes people to separate—instead of come closer.

“The important thing is … my mom is always there for me, even when I get in trouble,”

My child wrote that about me, the woman who went through a difficult period that she’s not proud of, but she learned from. And in my daughter’s words, I see hope for others.

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The important thing is … it’s not too late to stop yelling.

The important thing is … children forgive – especially if they see the person they love trying to change.

The important thing is … life is too short to get upset over spilled cereal and misplaced shoes.

The important thing is … no matter what happened yesterday, today is a new day.

Today we can choose a peaceful response.

And in doing so, we can teach our children that peace builds bridges—bridges that can carry us over in times of trouble.

Written by Rachel Macy Stafford

Rachel’s mission is to provide individuals with the inspiration, motivation, and tools to let go of daily distractions so they can grasp the moments in life that matter. Join her on her journey to a more meaningful life at www.handsfreemama.com and by visiting “The Hands Free Revolution” on Facebook! Rachel’s book, Hands Free Mama, which is an inspiration guide to transforming a distracted life into one of meaningful connection, will be available in January from Zondervan publishers.

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