Cracks

My children just snuck into my office and apologized for jumping on their beds.  See, I'm in here sobbing after I shouted at them and slammed the door and they think it's their fault.  I asked them to stop jumping on their beds and they ignored me.  Then I raised my voice.  Then I shouted as loud as I could.  Then I gave up, told them to do whatever they wanted and slammed the door.  This is not the reaction of a mother who has it together.  This is the reaction of someone who is still broken, still marred by depression.  They think it's their fault.

I was short with them all day, all week really.  It's like I don't know what to do with myself if they won't listen the first time.  I used to be patient and creative.  I used to talk to them until I was sure they heard me.  Now I scream thinking that the neighbors must be hearing me too.

I want to be better so badly.  That's why I'm crying.  It's not because I yelled once.  It's not even because I yelled all day.  It's because I don't want them to remember this version of me as who their mom is.  I don't want this to be who I am.