Simple, right? Apparently not. He was too busy “playing” in his room, taking off his clothes because it's warm and deciding that the shoes could wait.

I asked again. And again. And again. But instead of the cooperation I needed, he just looked at me like I was speaking a different language.

The outburst

At that point, something inside me snapped. “Boy, you better make sure those shoes are on your feet by the time I turn around, or else…” I screamed. The anger just spilled out, and I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t my proudest moment. And as soon as the words left my mouth, I felt that all-too-familiar knot of mom guilt creeping in.

What happened next wasn’t a surprise, but it felt like a punch to the gut.

I found myself sitting down with my son, apologising for losing my temper. “I’m sorry, big boy,” I said, my voice thick with regret. "I shouldn’t have yelled.” And there we were, sitting on the floor, me apologising for losing it, and him giving me that wide-eyed look like he was processing something big.

Gentle parenting

The "gentle parenting" thing, the method I’ve read about, the approach where you get down to their level, talk softly, and allow them to express themselves—yeah, I’ve tried it.

I really have. I get on his level, I ask him what’s wrong, I speak gently to him, and I let him tell me what happened. But let’s be honest: it doesn’t always work. Not for us, at least.

My son is incredibly observant. He knows right from wrong. He can tell me when he’s done something naughty. The other day, he walked up to me and said, “Mommy, today I was naughty. I made big holes in ma’s garden searching for treasure, but then I decided it was time to be good and helped her water the plants.” His words, not mine.

It’s a glimpse into his mind, and while I love how he’s learning to articulate himself, I can’t help but laugh and think, “This little guy knows exactly what he’s doing.”

So, no, gentle parenting doesn’t always work for us. And that's okay. Because what I’ve learned through all of this is that being a mom doesn’t mean perfection.

Show up, be real

It means showing up, even when you’ve lost it, even when you’ve yelled or said things you didn’t mean. It means apologizing, teaching your kids that it’s okay to make mistakes and that love isn’t just about calm, collected moments. It’s about the real stuff, the messiness, the frustrations—and the hugs that follow.

Some days, I feel like I’m drowning in expectations. I’m supposed to be the perfect mom, balancing it all: laundry, the kids, being their emotional support, and getting them dressed without an emotional breakdown. But guess what? I’m not perfect. And neither are they.

But we’re trying. And that’s what matters.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus

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Navigating motherhood | from gentle parenting to embracing the 'momster'

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