The other day I found myself in one of the worst moods. Everything felt heavy, even the little things that normally don’t bother me. The laundry seemed endless, the dishes piled up, schoolwork with the kids was overwhelming, and the house felt like it would never stay clean. On top of that, I had meals to cook and work to finish. It all pressed down on me until I felt worn out and irritated. The dog chewed something up, and I snapped. One of the kids made a mess, and I let out a long, dramatic sigh loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Looking back, I cringe at how ungrateful I sounded, but it was the truth. That day I was tired, whiny, and drowning in self-pity.
Later that evening, I prayed with my nine-year-old before bed. That prayer changed everything, but not in the way you might think. I didn’t fall on my knees in dramatic surrender. It was just the simple act of praying together, right after I had confessed to him that I’d had a rough day. He looked at me with understanding and said, “It’s okay, Mom, you were fine.”
But I didn’t feel fine. I felt like a failure. I wasn’t patient enough, cheerful enough, or productive enough. I hadn’t even finished my list of chores for the day. After tucking him in, I sat on my own bed, finally resting for what felt like the first time. That’s when my youngest came into the room. I had just gotten my daughter to sleep, so I was desperate for a quiet moment to myself. Instead of welcoming him, I asked why he couldn’t stay in his own bed. My voice was tired, my words heavy. He left with tears in his eyes, and I immediately felt guilt wash over me.
I went to his room, crawled into his little bed, and apologized. He nodded, hugged me, and accepted my apology without hesitation. That simple act of forgiveness broke me even more. As I walked back to my own room, I thought about how silly I was for being so frustrated. What harm was there if he wanted to sleep in my bed? One day he might not even have the strength to walk to my room, and I would miss these moments terribly.
I realized then that I wasn’t an awful mother like I had been telling myself. I was just empty. I hadn’t done a single thing to care for myself that day—no bath, no walk, no reading, no prayer time. I had poured out everything I had for everyone else, but I hadn’t refilled my own cup. That exhaustion came out as irritability, and my children felt the sting of it.
By the time bedtime rolled around, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I wanted rest, yet my kids still needed me. I felt like a rope stretched too tight, ready to snap. Then my son appeared again, standing timidly in the doorway. My heart softened, and I pulled him into bed with me. I apologized again and held his tiny hand. He looked up at me with big brown eyes, and without a word, cuddled closer.
That’s when it hit me. All day I had been complaining about my mood to my family, sighing through chores, and muttering under my breath, but I hadn’t once asked God to help me. I hadn’t taken even a moment to stop and pray for strength or peace. I had tried to push through the day with my own strength, and of course, I had run out.
So that night, lying beside him, I asked my son if he wanted to pray. I told him we should ask God to help fix Mommy’s mood. I asked if he needed help with anything. He shook his head no. Then I asked if he wanted to thank God for something. Without saying a word, he pointed his little finger at me.
“You want to thank God for me?” I asked. He nodded and gave me the sweetest smile. Tears filled my eyes. All day I had been beating myself up, convinced I had failed as a mom. Yet here was my son, thanking God for me.
In that moment, my whole perspective shifted. I prayed aloud for patience, peace, and a better spirit. I thanked God for giving me the privilege of raising these precious children. Suddenly my thoughts changed from “poor me” to “lucky me.”
That night became a memory I’ll hold close forever. The struggles of the day faded, but what stayed was that little finger pointing at me, showing me love and grace. My son didn’t see my mistakes the way I did. He saw a mother who loved him. And through him, God reminded me that I don’t need to do this alone. I’m not meant to run on empty. When I rely on my own strength, I will always fall short. But when I lean on God, He gives me what I lack.
My children teach me about life every day. They show me grace, compassion, and forgiveness in ways I could never learn on my own. Even on the hardest days, I am blessed to be their mom. And even when I feel empty, my heart still overflows with love and gratitude for this life I’ve been given.
