by Erika Matic, deeply devoted, frequently overstimulated, and learning in real time
There is a lie we tell ourselves as parents. It goes like this: “She’ll be fine for a minute.” This sentence has never been correct in the history of parenting.
The other day, I was vacuuming. Loudly. Purposefully. Feeling productive in a way that tricks you into believing you are briefly in control of your life. My daughter was downstairs. Alone. For one minute.
When I finished vacuuming, I discovered that my 3.5-year-old had taken a water sprayer and very calmly sprinkled the entire house.
The table.
The bathroom.
The floors.
Possibly the soul of the home.
She did not panic. She was not hiding. She was not afraid. She was exploring. This was not chaos in her mind. This was curiosity in motion.
I, however, did not experience it that way. I lost it.
When a Child Explores and a Parent Snaps
I got angry. I reacted instead of responding. I raised my voice. I acted poorly. I became the parent I swore I wouldn’t be – the one who forgets, briefly but intensely, that toddlers are not tiny adults with foresight, impulse control, or a sense of property value.
I immediately hated how I handled it. And later that night, after she was asleep and the house was quiet again, the anger shifted. It always does.
I wasn’t angry at her.
I was angry at myself.
Angry for yelling.
Angry for not being more present.
Angry because I know better.
Angry for expecting better behaviour from someone whose brain is still under construction.
The next day – because parenting loves a sequel – there was another incident.
The Cat Food Situation
Yesterday, my daughter was downstairs with my mother-in-law, who stepped away for a moment. A completely reasonable, human moment.
At that moment, my daughter found cat food. And she put all of it into the cat’s water bowl.
Every single piece.
Not accidentally. Not impulsively. But thoughtfully. Deliberately. With the quiet confidence of someone conducting an experiment.
When I heard about it, I didn’t get angry. I laughed. Because apparently that was the day my nervous system decided to cooperate. Growth is inconsistent like that.
Parenting Is Mostly Realising Things Too Late
Here’s what I’m learning: parenting is not about getting it right the first time. It’s about noticing what happened after.
You don’t become patient and regulated before having a child. You become those things because your child exposes every unhealed part of you and asks you to stay calm anyway.
My daughter wasn’t being “bad.” She was doing what children do. She was learning cause and effect.
I was learning restraint. She was testing the world. I was testing my limits.
This is not a one-sided process.
The Part No One Warns You About
There are days when I miss my old self.
- The woman who had time just for herself.
- The woman no one depended on.
- The woman who could finish a thought without interruption.
And I don’t feel guilty admitting that – because missing who you were does not mean you love your child less. It means you understand what you’ve given up.
Because parenthood takes everything.
- Your time.
- Your energy.
- Your relationship.
- Your illusions.
- Your belief that you were emotionally evolved.
There is life before children.
And there is life after.
These are not slightly different versions of the same life. They are two entirely different realities.
This Is Not for Everyone (And That Matters)
From the outside, parenting looks manageable. Almost simple.
- Feed them.
- Love them.
- Teach them.
- Repeat.
But that version leaves out the internal transformation. The way a child forces you to confront your own reactions, triggers, and limits – daily.
People say, “You’ll figure it out.” And you do – but not without personal change so deep it feels like a small identity collapse.
If you are not sure you want a child, don’t have one. Not because you’d be a bad parent, but because parenthood requires full commitment.
You don’t get to give some of yourself. A child deserves all of you – your patience, your growth, your willingness to repair when you mess up.
And you will mess up.
Often.
The Quiet Truth at the End of the Day
At the end of the day, after the messes and the lessons and the internal rewrites, my daughter curls into me like the world is safe again.
Like nothing ever happened.
And I realise something that humbles me every time: She isn’t here to make my life easier. She’s here to change me.
- She is teaching me how to pause.
- How to repair.
- How to stay when I want to retreat.
- How to love without pretending I don’t have limits.
Parenthood is a privilege. And a responsibility. And a mirror I didn’t know I needed.
It will take all of my patience.
All of my knowledge.
All of my nerves.
And I will give it.
Because raising her is the most demanding, meaningful work I will ever do.
Even when the floors are wet.
Especially then.
Erika Matic writes about motherhood, emotional regulation, identity, and the quiet work of becoming a better parent than you were five minutes ago. She believes children are here to explore, parents are here to repair, and that learning how to stay calm while being tested daily is a form of growth no one prepares you for.
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