Confessions from My "Bad Mom Era"
When Small Choices Start to Shape Us
I tried to shake it off, but the thought kept tugging at me.
I told her we’d do crafts today. But I’m exhausted. I can’t do one more thing. She’ll get over it. It’s fine. It’s just the season we’re in. I guess I’m in my “bad mom” era. It won’t be like this forever.
That’s what I told myself.
Three leftover cinnamon rolls and a skipped morning walk later, I found myself scrolling aimlessly— trying to numb the work stress, the exhaustion, the mental load.
It’s just a season, I said again. It won’t be like this forever.
But small decisions have a way of adding up.
Days fold into weeks, and little habits become quiet routines.
I started to notice: I was becoming consistent in the things I didn’t want to be consistent in. And losing motivation for the things I deeply wanted to hold onto.
People ask me sometimes with admiration:
“How do you do it all?”
Homeschooling. Working. Baking sourdough. Managing a home. Hosting dinners. Nurturing a marriage. Keeping little heads trimmed and tidy.
Here’s the truth:
I don’t.
On the imaginary scale of good moms and bad moms, I feel myself sliding further into the latter more often than I’d like to admit.
We eat more takeout than I planned.
I’m harder on my kids than I want to be.
I treat motherhood like a checklist: rushing through schoolwork, discipline, chores — just to prove to myself that I’m doing “enough.”
That they’re thriving.
That I can handle it all.
But the truth is: this kind of striving isn’t life-giving.
Not for them.
Not for me.
I forget to eat until 5pm.
I break my promises.
I push everyone toward goals and dreams but neglect the quiet work of presence — the unseen faithfulness that actually builds a home.
Lately, I’ve felt a gentle but persistent tug from the Holy Spirit.
A call to repentance.
Not a trendy word, I know.
In a world full of self-justification, repentance sounds harsh— like admitting failure.
But repentance isn’t shame.
It’s simply this: recognizing where my heart has strayed and turning it back toward home.
Not how things look on the outside.
Not how many checklists get crossed off.
Just a heart honestly saying:
“I know I’ve been wrong.”
My children offer me more grace than I deserve.
Their forgiveness is unearned.
Their love steady, even in my short answers and worn-out sighs.
But I’ve begun to see what I hadn’t noticed before: these patterns don’t just wear on me, they grieve the Holy Spirit too.
“Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God... Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you... Be kind and helpful to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ also forgave you.”
Ephesians 4:30-32
What Does Repentance Look Like?
For me, it looks quieter.
Simpler.
More surrendered.
It looks like choosing my kids first, seeing their needs before my scroll, my inbox, my exhaustion.
It looks like less time numbing out on social media.
Less escapism.
More presence.
It looks like tending to their health with care. Planning meals instead of feeding them whatever’s convenient.
It looks like becoming a softer landing place for their hearts. A better example of grace and consistency.
It looks like letting go of striving— of spinning my wheels trying to get further, faster, when in reality, I’m digging myself further and further in the hole.
It’s just a start.
But I’m hoping it’s enough to begin course-correcting my heart.
Are you in a season where you need to course correct?
I’d love to hear about it.
Feel free to reply— I always read them.
