I’m really fed up of my kids.

I don’t think we say this enough as parents.

In particular, I don’t think we say this enough as MOTHERS, because we’re still so caught up in the societal expectations of us and the belief that we must constantly nurture and sacrifice ourselves, over and over, because we are women – and we are less worthy as women if we don’t.

My kids are HARD WORK.

There are high needs kids and there are low needs kids (with and without a neurodiversity diagnosis) – and there are high need seasons and low need seasons for everyone. Right now I have high needs kids in a high needs season and it is A LOT.

It is absolutely unrelenting, and there is very little reward or gratitude in parenting them.

There are no medals.

And trust me, recently, I have very much deserved them.

This last few weeks, I don’t think anyone in my household has said anything that hasn’t been angry, whiny, or tearful. Misery and hostility have abounded. I have been managing emotions and managing emotions and mopping-up and sympathising and counselling and consoling and cajoling and distracting and peace-keeping and negotiating and TRYING and BEING love, love, love, love – for at least 8-10 hours a day because of course in this high season of high need NO ONE IS GOING TO BED AND STAYING THERE.

I am tired, and worried, and FED UP.

I wanted kids because I thought it would be FUN. I wanted an excuse to go in soft play areas, and down slides, and to dig holes on beaches, to sing songs and go on walks and have days out and games nights and tickles and wrestling and dancing and snuggles in bed. I thought it would fill me up.

Turns out most of it is cooking, cleaning, and trying to keep your own emotions in check while handling theirs. Most of the time, it drains me. Plus, you know, I’ve also got to be running a household, keeping everyone’s calendars, holding down a job and trying to conduct healthy adult relationships – and not give in to my own mental health demons. It would drain anyone.

This is always a bad time of year.

I find my soul weighed down with darkness every October. The bright leaves flutter down like burnt orange snow, and while they are glowingly, stunningly beautiful – they leave behind them naked skeletons and decomposing mulch. For me it’s like that process is echoed internally every year, and I think something of that is true for my kids, too. So I should really understand… and be able to muster more patience.

I know I wouldn’t say to any struggling adult, for instance, ‘Come on now, smile, love, it might never happen’ (in fact I’d want to slap someone who said it to me). I wouldn’t say, ‘Pull yourself together. It’s not that bad. You’re exaggerating. Be grateful. Why can’t you just be happy? It’s like you WANT to be miserable. You can just CHOOSE to react differently you know. ’

But as I have battled more and more Small negativity and become more and more drained and more and more fed up, I have found myself wanting to say all of those things to my kids.

I DO want them to be happier. And I’m sure they are, elsewhere – with their friends. But back with me the masks are off, the gloves are off, and the Autumn blues are very much ON.

THIS, this right here is the reality of motherhood: Taking the punches, absorbing the hits, biting your tongue, coming last.

And it is tiring.

Like so many parenting crises, the trick to getting through it is to parent myself first.

I have to remember my children are allowed to have their feelings, just as I am.

I have to consider that maybe the person I’m frustrated with is me – that maybe the person I want to be happier and different is MYSELF.

I have to understand why I pretend so often, why I put myself last so often, and why I resent it when it’s a choice that I’ve made.

I have to reflect why disharmony triggers me the way it does.

I have to remember I can’t make other people happy – however much I want to.

And I have to look at WHY I’m so invested in people being happy all of the time, why I’m such a people-pleaser, constantly assessing the moods of those around me and trying to change them so I feel better – so I feel safe.

It’s something I’ve done my whole life.

As a child, I was trying to please my parents, and in particular my dad. At work I was (and am) continually avoiding conflict – often at the expense of personal comfort and progression. As a partner I try to predict reactions and fix things by showing my jugular, appeasing, making myself smaller, taking up less space – staying one step ahead of their needs and trying to shape myself to fill them.

The good news is, I suppose, that I can step back and see this now. I can see that my need to smooth over, keep up appearances, paste on a smile, radiate positivity, martyr myself and pretend everything is fine when it’s not – isn’t actually healthy.

The even better news is that I have at least broken the people-pleasing cycle in my children… Certainly, they are not trying to please ME, very noticeably.

And they shouldn’t have to. Because I am the adult, even when I don’t want to be. Even when old wounds are ripped open. Even when it’s difficult and thankless.

And that’s the real reason we should admit that we’re fed up with our kids more, because it’s the first step in recognising THAT IT’S OKAY.

It’s normal. Pretending otherwise or beating yourself up about it isn’t actually helping or working. It’s a feeling – in the moment – that will pass only if you give yourself the space and grace to FEEL it. If you examine where it came from. If you acknowledge that you deserve to say when hard things are hard without being judged for it, and that you deserve to have someone recognise how hard you’re working, and that you deserve to be loved for it and because of it and no matter what – JUST AS YOUR KIDS DO.

Admitting you’re fed up with your kids is the first step in re-setting. In starting over fresh. In coming back stronger. In parenting with intention and not reaction. In being the love THEY need, no matter what.

So if you’re at the end of your own tether, say it.

I am fed up with my kids.

I am fed up with being a mother, and not a person.

I am fed up of everything being hard.

I am fed up of looking after everyone else.

I am fed up of being responsible for everyone else’s emotions.

I am fed up of coming last.

I am fed up of no one seeing, no one understanding, and no one appreciating me.

I am fed up of not getting any mother-forking medals.

Well I see you, I hear you, and because no one else is going to I’M here to give you the medal you deserve.

Because if this is you too, I know that you’re a goddam freaking HERO.

I have compiled a list. Take one, two or more. Let me know which, and why. And please add your own:

Medal for Restraint

Medal for Outstanding Fortitude

Medal for Unfathomable Reserves of Patience

Medal for Apologising When Unfathomable Reserves of Patience have Run Out

Medal for Being the Repository of All The Bad Emotions

Medal for Services to Laundry

Medal for Doing Hard Things

Medal for Juggling Everything

Medal for Listening to Small Children Even When It’s Boring

Medal for Consistently Showing Up Even When You Don’t Feel Like It

Medal for Getting Up and Doing It All Anyway

Medal for Everyday Bravery (see above)

Medal for Self Management

Medal for Holding It Together

Medal for Incredible and Invisible Effort