Forgiving Ourselves for Parenting Mistakes

Anyone who knows my mother knows that she is a hard worker. A common saying in our family is “Ask Meemaw to (insert verb of choice here: fix, clean, get, move or sell are the top 5) it!”

When I needed help spring cleaning a rental property, I enlisted the help of my mom. Since it was out of state, we loaded the car with all the necessary supplies, most of which she carries in her purse or one of her countless totes at all times. One never knows when one will be called upon to produce a zip tie for a binding emergency. Yes, my “just in case we need it later” hoarding tendencies are inherited.

During one of our cleaning frenzies, I walked into the restroom for a potty break, where Mom had just cleaned. As I closed the door, I joked I hope she had wiped all of the Comet cleaner off of the toilet seat.

This remark was in reference to a childhood experience, a quite painful one. I recall sitting on a toilet seat as a child of 4 or 5 and immediately feeling a burning and stinging piercing the back of my legs.

As the oldest child, grandchild and all around sassy diva of the family, I never missed an opportunity to let my presence be known (further thoughts or comments on this matter from family members will be deleted!). Whether the pain was that intense or this little girl was just frightened of the experience, I seized the moment to overreact to the situation and set into a screaming panic.

Those screams produced the intended result, as a flurry of women rushed to my aid. In my defense, I do recall burns where the cleaner had touched my skin and an overwhelming relief when adult hands had cleaned my legs and made things right in my little world.

Returning to present day, the memory of the Comet cleaner obviously stuck in my head, which is why I quipped the joke towards my mother as I entered the bathroom.

Her reaction broke my heart. She said, “Oh Karla. Don’t joke about that. To this day, that memory tears me up inside.”

Really? I was taken aback by her emotional response. Even as the victim in this story, I knew it had been an accident and had felt nothing but relief and comfort by the loving hands that had come to my aid. It certainly explained my life-long aversion to the evil Comet cleaner, but never once had I ever thought of my mother’s mistake as a failure in parenting.

But in Mom’s statement was a load of life that made me think about how often we berate ourselves over our past failures. Had Mom shared with me her sense of remorse for the Comet, I could have assured her years ago that out of all the things our family had endured, the Comet incident did not even make the list.

It is human nature to hold on to guilt over our epic fails, in particular with parenting. We hope instead of facing those painful memories, we will convince the world, especially our children, that we are worthy of forgiveness in absentia of drudging up the details.

I hope I released Mom from holding on to a 45 year old memory.

I also vowed to address my own guilt from parental failures in hopes of helping my children understand that however my actions impacted them, I never intentionally meant to hurt them. Epic fails are just a part of being human, but so is giving and receiving grace.