“I don’t like you anymore! And sometimes I just want to kill you.”

What my daughter said to me last night, during a bedtime tantrum.

My first thoughts were how it felt oddly familiar. I remember when I spat the same words at my own mother. Though to be fair, I was 16 and she was menopausal. The classic mother-daughter love-hate relationship with a side of punching-bag syndrome. Things had already come full circle. I wasn’t expecting to hear it so soon — especially from a child who still struggles to pronounce her S’s.

Then she softly added, “I don’t want to kill Papa, just you.”

I wasn’t alarmed. Afterall, I had spent the last hour being the bedtime police — saying no to another lollipop, no to ice cream before dinner, no to extra screen time, no way to reading Little Mermaid for the forth night in a row. I’m the first to shut down the game of charades (my husband’s idea of a wind-down bedtime routine). I will never again say yes to going on the Viking with my son. I’m also (still) the parent that turns off the music so I can parallel park.

Basically I’m the family Grinch, and not just during Christmas.

I don’t think I’m alone — Many other mums I know wear this invisible badge of “responsibility.” Keeping track of the never-ending checklist, trying to keep some balls in the air.

It’s not that our husbands are bad dads. Many are deeply involved and hands-on. They just tend to be… well, more fun. They also usually show up after the tantrums, the meal refusals, the homework struggles. Often the mental load and rage from exhaustion falls under the mom territory. Sometimes it’s inevitable.

Whether we work part time or full time, in offices, or from home, or as full time mums (with no paycheck to show for it) — it’s all full-on work.

Throw in the hormonal roller coaster and it’s a wild ride! Somewhere between postpartum and peri-menopause, it’s no wonder we feel overstimulated, underappreciated, and just done sometimes. In the ebb and flow, we lose ourselves and find ourselves again.

And that’s where I’m at, in the messy in-between.

But here’s what I’m learning: it’s okay not to be “fun mum.” It’s okay to be tired, to say no, to need space. To love ourselves enough to honour our own boundaries. Accept the guilt, in healthy doses.

Parenting is not a performance; it’s the long haul. It’s okay to not be your child’s favourite person every day.

Showing up, regulating our own emotions to help them work through big feelings and loving them through it all — that’s the heart-work. Just some of it!

Last night, I sat with my daughter in the dark. I reminded her I loved her — even when she wasn’t happy with me. Even when I wasn’t my best version. That we both needed the sleep to feel better.

She listened, silent for a while. And after a few minutes, she reached for my hand and whispered the words I’ve come to know well:

“I love you, Mama. Hug me to sleep.”

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