It’s ok if you have a shitty day.

Not every day is going to be puppies and rainbows— and that’s fucking OK. It’s OK if you have a shitty day— or shitty moment— or one shitty moment after another. Just keep on fucking SHOWING UP AND DOING THE NEXT RIGHT THING. It’s OK if you fall down— or even if you fall down 100 fucking times in 1 fucking day— just get back the fuck up! DO NOT GIVE UP ON YOURSELF— FUCKING EVER.

Fucking seriously— last night was a fucking shit show for Me— and just when I thought things were cool, all HELL breaks loose at the house. We didn’t go to the pool yesterday, so My son was upset about that, but I didn’t think it was going to rock our bedtime routine into an alternate Universe.

Ohhhh, I was so fucking wrong. I made My next wrong move by telling My son to get off his PS5, “RIGHT NOW.” Yeah. I didn’t give him the “5-minute warning.” He was NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT.

My son initiated the SILENT TREATMENT. You know, to show Me how upset he was. Ohhhhh, fuck that shit. My family (mom, dad, sister) has pulled this SILENT TREATMENT bullshit since the beginning of time— that shit is BULLSHIT.

So, whilst I bathed My son, I explained to him why the SILENT TREATMENT is not helpful— and how hurtful it is. I also explained to him why I sometimes give him the abrupt orders to TURN OFF HIS PS5.

Me: See buddy, I often get distracted at night with “other things”— and I like to go down these rabbit holes that lead to God knows where— and then before I know it, 3-hours have gone by! Dude! It’s not you— it’s Me. I’m a night owl, and I like to stay up late, but that doesn’t mean you should stay up late with Me, too.

My son was ultra responsive to “My share”— and I thought, “Man! This is great! We just talked about our feelings, and I’m doing a great job at being a good mom!” I shared these thoughts with My son. I told him that I’d do My best to give him a 5-minute warning before it’s time to shut down his PS5— and he liked that idea. And then My son shared some more heartfelt feelings with Me! I thought things were going fucking AWESOME!— ohhhh, I couldn’t have been MORE FUCKING WRONG.

I mean, yeah, the tub talk was awesome!! BUT, little did I know that the shit was figuratively and LITERALLY going to hit the fan in the next 1 to 2 hours.

Yall. IT WAS SOOOOO FUCKING HORRIBLE.

I’ll fast forward just a bit. I read him a book, we have some GREAT laughs— I kiss him goodnight and tuck him in bed.

My son gets out of his bed and comes into My room and tells Me, “I’m scared. I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

WTF.

NOOOOOOO. This is NOT happening!! But we had a good night!! We had some heartfelt convos!!! Dude!!! What the FUCK??? Why won’t My son go to bed??— and sleep in his bed????? Whyyyyyy??????

Yall, no matter what I said, this child of Mine would NOT sleep in his bed. I wanted to scream and cry out of frustration!! And then I did.

I fucking screamed. I lost My shit. I’m sooo not proud of how I chose to respond (rather, REACT) to the situation, BUT HERE WE FUCKING ARE. My son runs to My room CRYING. He gets in My bed, and I angrily go downstairs to sleep on the couch.

And why is this a big deal??? First off, My son will mouth breathe whilst he slumbers, and I will hyper focus on that wind tunnel noise— so much so that I CANNOT FUCKING FALL ASLEEP.

Oh yeah. I have Misophonia. Not sure what the fuck THAT is?— it’s a thing where I have EXTREME SENSITIVITY to certain noises— and I’m also sensitive to certain motions/movements. I feel EXTREME RAGE to these “certain noises”— like, abnormal rage. Do I enjoy having Misophonia?— absolutely fucking NOT, but again— HERE WE FUCKING ARE.

So, My angry, enraged self is trying desperately to RELAX on the couch downstairs— you know, to fall asleep, but I can’t because I acted like such a fucking dick!! Omg. My heart is pounding from adrenaline— and I can’t take it.

I MUST MAKE AMENDS TO MY SON.

I trudge back upstairs, and tell him that I’m sorry for yelling. I tell him that it’s not his fault. I tell him that he’s not responsible for My feelings nor how I choose to respond (or react). I tell him ALL THE THINGS. I’m trying to be a good mama. I’m trying to DO THE NEXT RIGHT THING.

But I still know that I’m going to be sleeping on the couch downstairs. Fuck.

And then My son asks Me, “Mama, can I have a hug?” 🥰

Omg, yall!!! How sweet My child is!!

Me: “Of course, buddy!! ❤️❤️❤️”

Dude. There’s no fucking guide on how to be a parent— well, there kinda is— I do My fucking research, but you know what I’m saying— shit can come at from 15 million directions in one fucking night, and there just isn’t a perfect answer for it all!

Yeah, so My son and I make up— I feel good. He feels good. Ok, great! Right??? WRONG.

THE SHIT IS ABOUT TO HIT THE FUCKING FAN— literally. 💩💩💩

My son falls asleep, mouth breathing commences, and I’m outtie. Down to the couch I go.

I close My eyes and then— I smell something. IT DOES NOT SMELL GOOD. Oh fuck. Please let it not be shit. Please no!!!

Yep, it’s fucking SHIT. 💩

One of My pups had pooped herself upstairs. There was shit in her house, shit on her— it was so gross. I lost it. Again. I screamed— and cried. Omg. Why???

I’ll tell you why. Because she was stressed the fuck out after Me yelling earlier at My son! Dogs don’t like emotional unrest!— nobody does.

So, My dog shit herself because she was stressed the fuck out. I stressed her the fuck out. Plus, she’s really attached to Me— and whenever I’m upset, she feels upset. She’s sensitive— both My pups are.

Back to the doo doo palooza. I wash My pup in the tub— I put the poo towel/blanket in the wash, I scrub her house— and I go downstairs to try to calm down. I go outside on our front patio and start crying. I’m crying and talking to My late husband— saying that, “I’ve failed.”

I really felt so fucking defeated last night. I wanted to give up. But here’s the deal about that— I didn’t REALLY want to give up, I just wanted the pain to stop. I wanted the STRUGGLE to stop. It’s a lot doing EVERYTHING on My own— but that’s how it is, and I deal with it the best way I can— and yes, sometimes I fuck up. Sometimes I REACT instead of responding.

And then, as I’m crying outside sitting on My front patio chair, it starts raining.

Yes. RAINING. It felt so healing and cleansing. It also felt like My husband was crying— or that the rain was God’s tears. That they both felt My pain.

I heard, “It’s OK. It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to have a shitty day. It’s OK TO JUST BE. To just BE. But don’t fucking give up— don’t give up on yourself. Live— live life. Everything is going to be OK. You’re going to be OK.”

I went back inside, I hugged My pup so much, and told her that I was sorry— I’m crying like a baby— My pup is wagging her tail, licking My face, and crawling in My lap to be super close to Me. We were both sitting together on the kitchen floor— Me still crying and telling her how much I loved her— and she’s being so loving— and forgiving.

We both go over to the couch, and I wrap her up in a soft blanket. She curls up on a fluffy throw pillow that I WAS going to use as MY PILLOW…hahaha, but she can have it— it’s all hers. I curl up next to her and wrap more soft blankets around us— now we’re snuggly warm. Tears are still streaming down My face, but I feel much better now— I don’t feel like a failure anymore.

I feel LOVE surrounding Me— I literally see the lights of love come shining down on Me— it was beautiful. I remember saying to Myself, “Everything is going to be OK.” Or, something close to that. It was now pushing 3am, and I felt so calm and exhausted. I finally was able to close My eyes— I felt so peaceful and comforted. I felt surrounded by LOVE. ❤️ I fell MANY times that night, but I decided to get back up— and not give up. NEVER GIVE UP.