Tag: frustrated

  • I Am 2 I Am Not Naughty

    “I am 2. I am not terrible or naughty …I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.”

    From the diary of a 2-year-old:

    Today I woke up and wanted to get dressed by myself but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”

    This made me sad.

    I wanted to feed myself for breakfast but was told,

    “No, you’re too messy, let me do it for you.”

    This made me feel frustrated.

    I wanted to walk to the car and get in on my own but was told, “No, we need to get going, we don’t have time. Let me do it.”

    This made me cry.

    I wanted to get out of the car on my own but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”

    This made me want to run away.

    Later I wanted to play with blocks but was told “no, not like that, like this…”

    I decided I didn’t want to play with blocks anymore. I wanted to play with a doll that someone else had, so I took it. I was told “No, don’t do that! You have to share.”

    I’m not sure what I did, but it made me sad. So I cried. I wanted a hug but was told “No, you’re fine, go play”.

    I’m being told it’s time to pick up. I know this because someone keeps saying, “Go pick up your toys.”

    I am not sure what to do, I am waiting for someone to show me.

    “What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? Pick up your toys, now!”

    I was not allowed to dress myself or move my own body to get to where I needed to go, but now I am being asked to pick things up.

    I’m not sure what to do. Is someone supposed to show me how to do this? Where do I start? Where do these things go? I am hearing a lot of words but I do not understand what is being asked of me. I am scared and do not move.

    I lay down on the floor and cry.

    When it was time to eat I wanted to get my own food but was told “no, you’re too little. Let me do it.”

    This made me feel small. I tried to eat the food in front of me but I did not put it there and someone keeps saying “Here, try this, eat this…” and putting things in my face.

    I didn’t want to eat anymore. This made me want to throw things and cry.

    I can’t get down from the table because no one will let me…because I’m too small and I can’t. They keep saying I have to take a bite. This makes me cry more. I’m hungry and frustrated and sad. I’m tired and I need someone to hold me. I do not feel safe or in control. This makes me scared. I cry even more.

    I am 2. No one will let me dress myself, no one will let me move my own body where it needs to go, no one will let me attend to my own needs.

    However, I am expected to know how to share, “listen”, or “wait a minute”. I am expected to know what to say and how to act or handle my emotions. I am expected to sit still or know that if I throw something it might break….But, I do NOT know these things.

    I am not allowed to practice my skills of walking, pushing, pulling, zipping, buttoning, pouring, serving, climbing, running, throwing or doing things that I know I can do. Things that interest me and make me curious, these are the things I am NOT allowed to do.

    I am 2. I am not terrible…I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.

    -Author unknown

  • Punched, Threatened & Humiliated That Was My 9 Year Olds Reality

    Punched, threatened, excluded and humiliated; that was my daughter’s reality at just nine years old.I was sick of watching her slowly destroy my daughter. The worst thing was the lack of support. Teachers would tell me they hadn’t seen anything, everything was fine at school, or even worse, there’s nothing more we can do.

    I’d wake with waves of anxiety flooding my body. The guilt of not being able to protect my little girl was immense.She was too fearful to speak up. I began to be known as the mum who always complained.She remained quiet and well-behaved. I got angrier, exhausted and absolutely sick of being intimidated and shamed for speaking up.Thankfully the bullying went too far even by the school’s standards – there was mention of a knife being brought to school the following day. No need to explain that the very next person I spoke to wasn’t the school, wasn’t any of the professionals that had let us down for so long, I phoned the police.Would it actually have happened?

    You’d like to think not but even the child’s mum told me she wouldn’t put it past her daughter to do it just to prove a point.  Did things change after that? Yes, but it was temporary. It didn’t take long for the sleepless nights, tummy aches and anxiety to take over our lives again but it did stop eventually, and permanently this time.

    It wasn’t any one thing that made the bullying stop and it certainly wasn’t anything the school or the bully did! In a nutshell, it was just that WE had had enough, not in a tired, beaten, frustrated way but in a ‘my boundaries are rock solid and I’ll do what it takes to enforce them’ kind of way.  And in that moment of clarity was what it took to make the bullying stop.  I was beyond hoping the teachers would help. I’d lost complete faith in the adults I had entrusted my daughters care to.

    My daughter had learned the hard way that adults aren’t always there to protect you and they don’t always know best!It was Christmas Day evening. The day had been great yet come bedtime my daughter was in tears. Not because she was over excited and tired but because it had dawned on her that she was halfway through the school holidays and we were now on the decline towards the return to school. And she was scared.  

    The fear of being bullied is bad enough but to know that you’ve to face that alone because the adults who are meant to look after you aren’t, would be enough to tip anyone over the edge. Something inside of me snapped.  I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t even resentful. I was determined.I looked my daughter in the eye and gave her permission to do whatever she needed to do to make this stop. I told her she could hit back if she needed to. I told her she could scream, shout, argue with the teachers, do anything to make sure she was safe at school. And I promised her that no matter what she did, even if the teachers told her off I would back her.

    Actually, I told her it would be a good idea to really kick-off because then the teachers might call me into school, and they might start to see how terrified she really was, how much she was hurting.That was the turning point.  Looking back I think that moment was a culmination of things that resulted in my daughter realising her own strength. One reason is that I believed in her ability. She knew I really understood how much others had let her down and how unacceptable that was. She felt how determined I was and that I was completely behind her, 100%, no matter what. She felt heard, understood and ultimately I think she needed permission to not be the good girl who kept putting up with the crap because the adults around her told her she ‘just needed to ignore it’ as if she was making a big deal of nothing.

    I tell you what when your child tells you they don’t want to live their life anymore, there are no words. I only wish the teachers had taken us more seriously before it had got to that point.The good news is that we did make the bullying stop and my daughter is thriving. We learned so much from our experience, and for that I am grateful.Through our experience, I recognised the gaping hole where easily accessible, immediate advice and support should have been. So once our lives were back on track I volunteered for a bullying helpline but after 4 years I didn’t feel I was doing enough.

    I needed to provide what we had been in desperate need of, and so my business was born, supporting parents in protecting their kids from bullying.  All parents are welcome, whether their child is being bullied, has been bullied, worries about being bullied, or they are the one who is bullying.

    I never want to hear of a family so isolated and unsupported that they feel there’s just no option but to put up with it or hide. Bullying is not okay and you know what? The bystanders are just as bad as the bullies! In the words of Benjamin Franklin, “Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as outraged as those who are.”If bullying is something you worry about you can find me and other parents who understand in our free group on Facebook, The Mums Hub (https://www.facebook.com/groups/574353102769101/) , my Facebook page (www.Facebook.com/gemmaehills), or you can email me at contact@gemmahills.com.  No judgement just understanding.

  • I Am 2 I Am Not Terrible- I Am Frustrated

    “I am 2. I am not terrible…I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.”

    From the diary of a 2-year-old:

    Today I woke up and wanted to get dressed by myself but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”

    This made me sad.

    I wanted to feed myself for breakfast but was told,

    “No, you’re too messy, let me do it for you.”

    This made me feel frustrated.

    I wanted to walk to the car and get in on my own but was told, “No, we need to get going, we don’t have time. Let me do it.”

    This made me cry.

    I wanted to get out of the car on my own but was told “No, we don’t have time, let me do it.”

    This made me want to run away.

    Later I wanted to play with blocks but was told “no, not like that, like this…”

    I decided I didn’t want to play with blocks anymore. I wanted to play with a doll that someone else had, so I took it. I was told “No, don’t do that! You have to share.”

    I’m not sure what I did, but it made me sad. So I cried. I wanted a hug but was told “No, you’re fine, go play”.

    I’m being told it’s time to pick up. I know this because someone keeps saying, “Go pick up your toys.”

    I am not sure what to do, I am waiting for someone to show me.

    “What are you doing? Why are you just standing there? Pick up your toys, now!”

    I was not allowed to dress myself or move my own body to get to where I needed to go, but now I am being asked to pick things up.

    I’m not sure what to do. Is someone supposed to show me how to do this? Where do I start? Where do these things go? I am hearing a lot of words but I do not understand what is being asked of me. I am scared and do not move.

    I lay down on the floor and cry.

    When it was time to eat I wanted to get my own food but was told “no, you’re too little. Let me do it.”

    This made me feel small. I tried to eat the food in front of me but I did not put it there and someone keeps saying “Here, try this, eat this…” and putting things in my face.

    I didn’t want to eat anymore. This made me want to throw things and cry.

    I can’t get down from the table because no one will let me…because I’m too small and I can’t. They keep saying I have to take a bite. This makes me cry more. I’m hungry and frustrated and sad. I’m tired and I need someone to hold me. I do not feel safe or in control. This makes me scared. I cry even more.

    I am 2. No one will let me dress myself, no one will let me move my own body where it needs to go, no one will let me attend to my own needs.

    However, I am expected to know how to share, “listen”, or “wait a minute”. I am expected to know what to say and how to act or handle my emotions. I am expected to sit still or know that if I throw something it might break….But, I do NOT know these things.

    I am not allowed to practice my skills of walking, pushing, pulling, zipping, buttoning, pouring, serving, climbing, running, throwing or doing things that I know I can do. Things that interest me and make me curious, these are the things I am NOT allowed to do.

    I am 2. I am not terrible…I am frustrated. I am nervous, stressed out, overwhelmed, and confused. I need a hug.”

    -Author unknown

  • I’m Not The Perfect Mom, I’m THAT Mom

    ‘I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who gets up before the sun rises, to get ready for work. Who packs lunches and gets backpacks and clothes laid out. Who sneaks in and kisses her babies before she leaves for the day.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who sometimes has a short fuse. Who sometimes yells over insignificant things. Who wishes she didn’t loose her temper as much.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who stops at McDonald’s for her kids. Who has good intentions of making a home cooked meal, but gets frustrated when nobody will even try it.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who spends all night cleaning up, and feels guilty for not sitting with her kids. I’m also the mom who plays with her kids, and then feels guilty for having a messy house.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who one day, sets an hour limit on their tablet time. I’m also the Mom who let’s them play on it for 3 hours the next day, just so I can get things accomplished.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who sits down and goes over homework with her kids. I’m also the mom who gets in trouble for not correctly helping with homework because I was cooking dinner and feeding the baby at the same time.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who feels like a rockstar on Monday. I’m also the Mom who feels like I’m ready to throw in the towel by Friday.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who has let her baby cry it out. I’m also the Mom who let’s her babies crawl into her bed in the middle of the night, snuggling up with them.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who formula fed. Who used disposable diapers, who didn’t make homemade baby food.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who tries her hardest every single day. Who knows that she’s not perfect, but her kids think she’s pretty damn close.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who is everybodys everything. The keeper of the calender, the chauffeur of the littles, the wiper of the messes, and the referre of the house.

    I’m that Mom.

    The Mom who is exhausted at the end of everyday. Who wonders every night if I’ve done a good enough job. Who hopes and prays that my babies will grow up knowing that they are loved and protected. Who peeks in on them when they’re sleeping, even when they spent the last 3 hours driving me crazy.

    I’m that Mom.

    I’m not the Perfect Mom, but that’s okay. Because I’m That Mom – and that’s a pretty damn good one to be’

    Credit: The Chronicles of Motherhood