Last weekend, I was getting ready for an exciting night out and desperately searching my bathroom for my favorite eyeshadow — nothing makes my look pop like that gorgeous “fairy blush” shade. After turning my space upside down, I finally discovered it in my daughter’s room. I’ve repeatedly asked my teenage daughter to let me know when she’s borrowing my stuff. It would save me the hassle of turning my entire home into a treasure hunt for my beloved t-shirts, eyeshadow, or socks — apparently, my closet has become a boutique for her and her friends.
Before finding my cherished eyeshadow, I stumbled upon an empty guacamole bowl tucked away on her floor (right next to several of my missing socks). I can only assume it had been there for weeks. Beside it lay a bag of corn chips that were staler than gossip about celebrity reunions.
Taking a moment to breathe, I applied my makeup, returned it to my closet, and dropped the kids off with their dad before attempting to shift gears into date night. But first, I needed caffeine.
While I was waiting in line, an older gentleman approached and told me to smile. I fantasized about explaining that my mind was bogged down with a to-do list that could fill a novel because, let’s face it, women often juggle everything in the household, whether they’re single or not. I wanted to tell him that I didn’t feel like smiling because the mental load I carry makes my resting face resemble a tulip in full bloom. I thought about how he should try being everything for everyone and then report back on whether he felt like smiling. To make matters worse, he reminded me of a former boss who once commented on my appearance in a crude way. I should have stood up for myself, but bills were due, so I held my tongue.
We’ve been conditioned to maintain peace and keep quiet. That lingering frustration bubbles up when a stranger suggests we should be happy just to make their day easier. And honestly? We’ve had enough.
We often feel overlooked — at work, at home, everywhere. We say the same things repeatedly only to be met with silence. That evening, my date insisted on walking me to my car despite my clear refusals. When he asked for a hug, I was left thinking, “Seriously?”
The next morning, I walked into my daughter’s room and saw that same bowl, still sitting there with the stale chips. I braced myself for a potential infestation, thinking this was the last thing I needed in my life.
And then it happened. I completely lost it right there in the hallway, with my kids half-asleep. I didn’t hold back, and I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty about it.
My kids often ask why I seem so angry all the time. To them, my occasional outbursts after bottling things up translate as constant anger. I’ll admit, I’m tightly wound. A quick glance at the news, repeating myself to an adult male, receiving another school note, or finding spoiled leftovers in my daughter’s room, and I’m ready to explode.
I give in to that frustration, just like every other mom I know. When a friend shares a story about how overwhelming life can be, everyone nods in agreement, anger simmering beneath the surface. The collective frustration is palpable because we all know it’s challenging to get anyone to listen until we finally raise our voices.
Moms are often overwhelmed because we carry so much on our plates. We worry about everything, including worrying too much, and it seems our families frequently overlook our efforts. Sometimes, sharing our frustrations can reset the family dynamic temporarily until they need another wake-up call from their irked mom.
The truth is, there’s a lot for moms to be angry about. That anger builds up until it erupts. And it’s not a bad thing—it often drives us to get things done. So let’s stop feeling guilty about being angry. This is our reality, and we’re navigating it the best we can. Sometimes that includes letting loose in the hallway on a Monday morning, and I’m completely okay with that.
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In summary, it’s completely normal for moms to feel a surge of anger amidst the chaos of life. We manage a lot, and sometimes that frustration erupts, but it’s all part of the journey.
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