by Erika Matic, deeply in love, mildly unhinged, and one tantrum away from enlightenment
I love my daughter more than anything in this world.
I would donate organs. I would fight bears. I would Google symptoms at 3 a.m. and calmly convince myself she is both fine and dying at the same time.
This love is not in question.
What is in question is my nervous system.
Because no one talks about what happens to parents during the screaming. Not the child’s emotions – we’ve covered those extensively. There are charts. Instagram reels. Gentle voices explaining that toddlers are “having a hard time, not giving you a hard time.”
Yes. I know.
But what about me having a hard time?
What about the moment when a tiny human you adore looks you dead in the eyes, throws herself on the floor because you want to go out for a walk, and your soul briefly leaves your body?
Where is the handbook for that?
The Emotional Whiplash Olympics
My daughter can go from angel to demon faster than I can finish a deep breath.
One moment she is sweet, cuddly, and reasonable. Next, she is possessed by a spirit whose only mission is to test the limits of my emotional regulation.
I’m not exaggerating. This child can:
- Laugh uncontrollably at my jokes
- Tell me she loves me “to the moon and back”
- Ask for a hug
And then, within seconds:
- Scream like I’ve betrayed her ancestors
- Collapse dramatically onto the floor
- Accuse me (nonverbally, but clearly) of ruining her entire life
All because I poured the juice myself instead of letting her pour it and spill it everywhere, which was apparently crucial to her personal growth.
And I know (I know) this is developmentally appropriate. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like psychological warfare.
The Parenting Advice Nobody Gave Me
Every parenting expert is very concerned with how I respond.
- Stay calm.
- Validate feelings.
- Name the emotion.
- Hold boundaries gently.
- Be a safe space.
And I do. I really do.
I kneel down. I soften my voice. I say things like, “I see you’re feeling very frustrated.”
Meanwhile, inside my body:
- My heart rate spikes.
- My shoulders creep up to my ears.
- My brain starts narrating my failures in real time.
Because while my daughter is learning how to regulate her emotions, I am learning how close I am to losing my shit.
Quietly. Internally. With a polite smile.
No one prepared me for the internal chaos of parenting – the way it drags up every unresolved emotion you’ve ever had and says, “Great, let’s work on this now. In public.”
The Myth of the Calm Parent
There is this fantasy version of parenthood where you are always patient, grounded, wise.
You respond, never react.
You breathe through challenges.
You remain emotionally available at all times.
This parent does not exist.
Or if she does, she has help, sleep, and possibly medication.
The rest of us are out here counting to ten while our child screams because we told her no more screen time.
And the hardest part isn’t the tantrum. It’s what it triggers in us.
The sudden wave of incompetence.
The feeling that you’re doing it wrong.
The shame for even feeling angry at someone you love this much.
Because nobody tells you that loving your child doesn’t protect you from being overwhelmed by them.
Love does not equal infinite patience.
The Guilt Spiral No One Mentions
Here’s the part we whisper, if we admit it at all: Sometimes my daughter can wreck my entire mood in seconds.
Not because she’s bad.
Not because she’s manipulative.
But because I am human, and my emotional bandwidth is not endless.
I can be grounded, regulated, emotionally intelligent, and still feel rage-adjacent when someone screams directly into my soul.
And then comes the guilt.
Because what kind of mother feels this way?
A bad one, obviously.
An ungrateful one.
A woman who should probably try harder and do more yoga.
Except – no.
She’s a normal one.
A mother whose nervous system is also under construction.
The Unspoken Truth
We talk endlessly about children learning to navigate the world. But parents are also learning.
We are learning:
- How to stay calm while overstimulated
- How to hold space while wanting to flee
- How to respond with love while our inner child is screaming too
Every tantrum is not just a test of patience – it’s a mirror.
- It shows you your limits.
- Your triggers.
- Your exhaustion.
And that can feel terrifying.
Because suddenly, it’s not just about the child. It’s about who you are under pressure.
And sometimes, the answer is: tired, overwhelmed, and doing your best not to yell.
The Part That Actually Matters
Here’s what I’m slowly learning – and what no expert seems to say out loud: You are allowed to have emotions too.
You are allowed to feel angry without acting on it.
You are allowed to feel overwhelmed without being a failure.
You are allowed to take care of yourself after supporting others.
Being a good parent does not mean being endlessly calm. It means noticing when you’re not, and choosing repair. Because the magic isn’t in never losing control.
It’s in coming back.
In apologising.
In reconnecting.
In showing your child that emotions don’t make you dangerous – they make you human.
The Quiet Ending No One Posts About
At the end of the day, after the screaming, the negotiating, the emotional gymnastics – my daughter curls into me like nothing ever happened. Like the storm passed and she trusted I’d still be there.
And I realise something uncomfortable and beautiful: She isn’t breaking me. She’s revealing me.
All the places I need gentleness.
All the parts of me still learning.
Parenthood isn’t just about raising children. It’s about re-parenting yourself in real time, with no script, no pause button, and a very loud audience.
And some days, that feels like too much.
But most days?
It feels like growth.
Messy. Loud. Imperfect growth.
And maybe that’s the part we need to talk about more. Not how to be perfect parents, but how to be honest ones.
Because loving your child doesn’t mean you never struggle.
It means you keep showing up, even when your nervous system is hanging by a thread.
Especially then.
Erika Matic writes about motherhood, emotional regulation, and the uncomfortable truth that sometimes the hardest part of parenting is managing your own feelings while teaching someone else how to manage theirs. She believes deep breaths help, silence helps more, and that surviving toddlerhood deserves a medal.
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