Becoming the Mom I Silently Judged
There’s a story I’ve been wanting to tell for awhile, but it’s hidden in shame.
The shame is a silent one, as most are.
We often hide our dark thoughts because shining a light on them would mean shining a light on all the things we silently do or say or think that reminds us that as humans we are flawed.
That’s the thing about shame, in our minds it outweighs our goodness.
Even when the scales tip in favor of our goodness, the bricks of judgement and self righteousness can come crashing down at any time.
I remember the day like it was yesterday.
I was enjoying the day with my newborn son, Hank.
We sat down for lunch when a mother and her son sat down at the table next to us.
The son looked to be around six or seven, in my mind the appropriate age to “know better.”
Immediately after sitting down, the son started to yell and scream at the mother.
I can’t recall exactly what the boy was screaming about, I just remember the mom saying it’s okay buddy, she looked tired.
The boy then proceeded to hit his mother, not a little smack, but a continuous stream of punches.
The mother maintained this level of calm that I’ve never witnessed before, but at the time I didn’t see it as calm.
I saw it as bad parenting.
This mother just sat there as her son screamed and hurt her and didn’t even raise her voice at him!!
My scale tipped.
Immediately I thought to myself..
“No wonder he acts like that!!”
“He’s old enough to know better!”
“What a terrible mom to allow this!”
I remember looking down at my sweet newborn and saying to myself, I would never allow that type of behavior.
I’m a good mom.
I recalled the story to my husband over dinner that night, relaying my shock and disbelief of bad parenting skills to him as I fed my son a homemade purée of vegetables I made for him, because I was a “good mom.”
I never spoke of that day again to anyone else, in fact I kind of forgot about it altogether.
But something happened, as I was busy being a good mom and pureeing vegetables, my son stopped progressing.
He didn’t respond to his name, he didn’t engage with us.
I could shatter a glass vase behind him and he wouldn’t even turn around.
He never said “Momma.”
He banged his head repeatedly on the floor.
He cried and screamed for no reason.
He never slept; we never slept.
I would try to console him but he would continuously bite me so hard, my arm had marks all over it.
He would nonstop ram his body into mine and head butt me any time I picked him up, to the point I would scream in his face “what is wrong with you! Stop!”
Receiving Hank’s Autism diagnosis was not a surprise, for lack of a better word it was bittersweet. I had answers for his behaviors and could find a way to help him..
But the outside world didn’t.
Anytime we went into public spaces, we were judged, not so silently.
As I tried to hold on to my “good mom” status, my son and I were leaving in tears from toddler library groups. Me from comments from the parents about my child, him from me pulling him off of the windowsill he was climbing on.
I became that mom that I silently judged and I wore that badge and those bruises with a protective heart. I still do.
I look at that mom from when I had a perfect newborn with a different perspective.
A while back she popped up on Facebook “people you may know.” So I curiously scrolled on her page and saw that her son has a pretty rare genetic muscular disease.
Every day this child is in pain.
Just getting out of bed and walking was extremely hard for him.
Now he relies on a wheelchair.
I sobbed when I realized this. How ignorant I was to even fathom such pain.
Life is weird right now, but our scales are tipping.
We are in the middle of a pandemic.
I get it, self protection is on everyone’s mind.
Just please remember kindness.
Covid isn’t the first thing on everyone’s mind when they step out the door. If you see a child struggling to wear a mask, please don’t let your scale tip.
If you see a tired mother, offer a word of encouragement.
Remember empathy always friends, our battles are different but our end goal is the same.
Written by, Franny Whiteside
My name is Franny Whiteside. I am a mother of 4, My middle son Hank has Autism. I am trying my best to raise kind, compassionate tiny humans and teach the power of inclusion to anyone who will listen. I am a reiki master, a runner, a lover of music and cooking. You can connect with me on Facebook.
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