the terrible, no good, horrible day redeemed

I’m writing this on a late Monday afternoon. The Minnesota sun is finally staying around for just a bit longer, but the world is still blanketed in a heavy coat of gray. It seems as if the sun has been absent for months, making only occasional peeks to brighten the world.

I’m sitting, as I type this, in a coffee shop tucked in the corner of a strip mall, writing while I wait for Chloe to finish teaching ballet for the second time today. The hum of coffee being brewed and the warmth of the fireplace should be enough to make my mood relaxed. Calm. And yet, there’s this nagging tension in my upper back. My neck.

Today was one of those days.

You know, those days that so often we as moms tend to push under the rug and ignore that we had to endure — nothing terrible happened, just a series of events, and moods, and aggravations that led up to one of those days. From the moment midnight came on the clock I should have realized that this day was not going to run as smoothly as desired. I was up most of the night with Samuel. Two of the four boys decided to wake up on the wrong side of their beds {which is amazing since their beds are against opposite walls and yet they somehow managed to choose the wrong side}. The other boy, that four year old, was the ultimate in crabby. The older girls missed the sun as much as I do — and that lack of movement, of sun, of being in the home finally wore everyone down.

As I left the home, I could feel tears stinging my eyes.I failed. Again. Those words kept running through my head as I drove the little car over the back roads to ballet. We’re behind. I failed. I want to scream or cry or get more coffee. Thought after thought after thought of me failing rolled through my head. If only I had done this, or found this project, or was more diligent, or didn’t answer that phone call. I failed. Again.

Leaving me here. In a coffee shop, with a not very good cup of Chai next to me, Norah Jones on their radio, and tears still stinging my eyes. I’m left with a choice, in a way. I can reenter my home and pick up exactly where we left off — anxiety, crabbiness, and crazyiness — or I can choose to change my mood and set the bar for change in our home for everyone else. And that means letting go of the idea that I failed. Clinging to an incorrect assumption of failure only keeps me stuck in the very day that I want to reclaim.

They might not jump on board. That’s okay {there’s bedtime}. Or they might {then there’s dessert}. But, whatever happens with the remaining 7.25 hours of this day I can tell you that the I failed thoughts that raced through my weary mind are not true. And when you have those thoughts, my friends, they are not true as well.

Having a bad day does not mean failure.

It is simply a bad day. Thankfully we are blessed with 365 days {or this year even one extra} in each year. There will be hard days. But, enduring a hard day and not doing everything perfect or how one wants it to be does not mean failure. Failure would be quitting. But, we as moms, we pick ourselves up. We make the bed, wash the dishes, and tuck those little ones back into bed with sweet I love you’s whispered to those little energetic bodies that are finally falling asleep.

My friends, do not look at the bad days and let them define you. You are greater than that day.

That’s what I’m remembering as I sit here, in this worn leather chair, in a coffee shop on the end of a very hard day. It’s perspective. Stepping back and remembering the truth that I’ve said to you all before – you are a good mom. Today was just a day. There is tomorrow. Learn from today, grow from today, but do not let the hard days write any definition of self.

The terrible, no good, horrible day was just a day. One day.

You are worth more than any title you give to your day.

Motherhood matters.

More.

to receive finding joy via email simply click subscribe.
Images and original content are sole property of Rachel Martin and may not be used, copied or transmitted without prior written consent.