GUEST POST: Gods grace in the midst of mom guilt by Tiffany Gerttula

Hey guys, this post was written by a good friend of mine and I'm honored to be sharing it with you! 

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Mom guilt. Something no one ever talks about, especially before you have kids. Let me tell you, it’s not pretty! It will linger and haunt you growing deeper with every “mistake” you make. That could be why we don’t talk about it. Who wants to chat about the things that cause us shame and feelings of failure? Becoming a mother is supposed to be a beautiful, rewarding, challenging and blessed experience that one doesn’t truly comprehend until they start raising children. Everyone says it is hard, that is a given, but if we also spoke openly about feeling disgrace and disappointment would civilization cease to exist as we know it?

Recently our family experienced an exceptionally rough week. Our two year old fractured her left arm when the neighbor’s young Labrador retriever decided she looked like one of those inflatable punching toys that kids punch down and springs back up. Yes, kids get hurt. It is inevitable. But when it is your kid and the different variables surrounding the incident make you second guess your decisions as a parent that is when the guilt and shame can creep in.

So, this is how it all went down:

My littles and I decided to feed the goats and chickens in our back yard. The youngest (we’ll call her Gerber for the purpose of this story) is nine months old and as I stated earlier the older one is two going on three (she’ll beDancing Queen or DQ). We have what one might call a hobby farm in our back yard which angles downward quite a bit from the rear of our house. Wrangling the littles while trying to feed the animals is no easy task, especially when DQ’s free spirit always wants to let them loose.  “Set them free, Momma,” she says. To make the chore a little more manageable I decided to strap Gerber into the jogger stroller this time. After feeding the animals we started to make our way back up the slightly steep slope. “Pick me up, Momma,” said DQ. “I can’t honey, I have to push Gerber up the hill,” I replied.

A moment later the uncoordinated and overly excited young lab comes galloping around the corner of the house and I watch in horror as he pummels into DQ knocking her off her feet. I can still close my eyes and see the whole thing on replay.

She’s screaming for me. I’m screaming at the dog to get off her. The dog doesn’t stop pouncing on her little body. Gerber and I are about five feet ahead of them on the hill. I turn the jogger stroller slightly to stop it on the hill, run down to DQ and scoop her up. I know instantly something is wrong. My left-handed princess now has an arm of a spaghetti noodle. Panic sets in. Just so you know I am a registered nurse. I have been trained to handle stressful life threatening situations. I have experienced stressful life threatening situations. However, as a mom with a hurt child all my education, experience and training went out the window in that moment. With DQ in my arms I dashed into the house to call for help. You know those dreams you have where you need to call for help but your fingers won’t work right or you can’t remember the number? Well, that happened. Once I forced my brain to cooperate and remember how to dial a phone I called my Dad because he’s a volunteer fireman (has been since we were little kids), he works just down the road from our house and he could respond the fastest.  

“I need help Dad, I think DQ dislocated her arm,” I yelled in panic when he answered. Once he said he’d come right away I made a slight sigh of relief. Help was on its way. That relief was short lived. In fact my panic mode increased twofold as soon as I realized the stroller Gerber was in that I carelessly left slightly turned on the hill had rolled down to the bottom and was now parked in the blackberry bushes. “Oh Lord, no!” I think to myself while I run toward the stroller with a wailing toddler in my arms. My legs couldn’t move fast enough. I have visions of a board piercing her little body, thorny vines entangling her or worse yet, that she had been catapulted from the stroller completely. I hear no screams or crying. “She must be unconscious,” I tell myself.

I reach Gerber to see that she is completely unharmed, totally unaware of the danger she could have faced and sucking on her tennis shoe. “Praise the Lord, oh my soul,” I yell. This baby just went on the ride of her life down a steep hill dodging buckets, fencing materials and boards. She gracefully came to a stop with just enough room that her piggy toes didn’t touch a single torn at the bottom. If that wasn’t a miracle, I don’t know what is. Living in a small town with a lot of family allowed me to quickly find someone to watch over Gerber at home while I rushed DQ to the emergency room. “She’s going to be just fine,” the doctor told me, “but she has a fractured arm and will need to wear a sling for the next 3-4 weeks.” “Praise the Lord,” I tell myself again. Just as we were about to leave the hospital DQ lifts both arms up in the air without a wince and says, “look Momma, I can praise God!”

Now that I am reassured both my angels are out of harm’s way the guilt sets in. It hurts like a knife in my chest. What if I had just picked her up when she asked me to? How could I leave my vulnerable baby on a dangerous hillside while I cared for her sister? Essentially I had chosen one child over the other, hadn’t I? 

Who does that?!?

I felt like the worst parent on Earth. I was embarrassed, ashamed and broken hearted that I hadn’t taken care of BOTH my babies appropriately. 

Have I been able to reflect on poor decisions I made and learn from this incident? Yes, of course I have. However, that doesn’t take away the dark cloud of shame that resides over my head. I felt like a total LOSER, a failure as a parent. I felt like I couldn’t hold everything together like I always had and in a way am expected to. 

People would ask me how DQ was doing and I would give them a full report. Secretly I felt too ashamed to tell them that the report on Gerber was miraculous too. I knew by telling the WHOLE ugly story that eyebrows would raise and they did. Jokes at my expense would be said and they were. I knew if they really understood how I felt about letting my kids down that they wouldn’t be able to handle the tears that would come running down my cheeks. 

All my life I’ve tried my best to look, act and just BE perfect. I always knew when to say the right things and when it was best to hold my tongue. I can sound wise and well educated. I can keep my cool in tense and/or uncomfortable situations. 

But this was my reality check. This made me loose face, it made me human. So here I am sharing the depths of my soul, what I really feel like inside. Ladies and gentlemen, I ain’t perfect. What a relief it is that I’m not! I can finally stop these silly spectacles and be REAL.

I know I will make plenty more mistakes. I know I won’t be able to control every situation my child is in. This is where my Savior comes in. He doesn’t expect me to be perfect. He doesn’t expect me to have it all together all the time. He desires me to need and rely on Him. 

One person I bore my humiliation to said, “This was God’s way of telling you He has His hands around your children, even when you don’t.” 

That is SO true!

My kids are one part of my life that I haven’t been able to fully submit to God. I’ve prayed over them and prayed God’s will for their lives, but I haven’t ever really let go of the reigns. Why? Because I am too scared that he might take them away from me? He’s a God that loves us and wants what is best for us. Does that mean my children will be free from trials, failures, sickness or even death? No, it does not. I will admit that is scary to say out loud. What God wants me to do is to lay them at His feet and trust that they are in the best care. He will prove that to me time and time again. 

I am truly counting my blessings that God provides a hedge of protection around my children, especially when I fall short as a Mom. I serve a God that is near me even when I have been distant from Him. He follows through on his promises. I serve a God that forgives and shows unending grace and mercy. I need to be a mother who forgives herself and shows herself grace. My children are still young and there are many decisions I will make for them in the future, some very likely could be wrong. God doesn’t expect me to be perfect. Why should I expect myself to be perfect? 

How about we all get off our high horses and realize we are human, we make mistakes, we will fail but that God loves us anyway and with Him we have it all!