I dropped my 7-year-old off at ballet class, preoccupied with trying to squeeze in a stop at a nearby consignment shop for its half-price winter clothes sale.
Usually, I’d wait outside my daughter’s ballet class, just in case. But that day, I decided to risk it, calculating I had a full hour.
Forty minutes later, I stood at the cash register with a mound of jackets, jeans, and long-sleeved shirts. Triumphant for scoring $125 for three children’s future winter clothing for only $125. I glanced at my phone as I handed over my debit card to the cashier. Another mom in the class had texted me: “Where are you? It’s parent viewing day.”
My stomach dropped and I immediately felt tears sting my eyes. I pushed them back, finished paying, and rushed to the ballet class, five minutes away. Parent viewing is an annual event, a milestone following months of practice and one I’d looked forward to.
In the studio, my daughter locked eyes with me. I could tell from her trembling lips that she’d been putting on a brave face in class, but she was hurt and confused by my absence, and there would be a post-class meltdown. I felt like the worst parent in the world. Every other week, I’d spent class time in the waiting room. Why did I have to run errands that day?
It was difficult to see myself as anything other than a forgetful mother
After class, my daughter held her tears until she was in her car seat. “Where were you?” she wept. “All of the other parents were there smiling.”
Her words made me cry, too. I got out of the driver’s seat and went over to embrace her. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I said. At home, we snuggled in bed.
“I wish we could restart the day,” my daughter said. “So none of this happened.” Her tear-stained face looked up at mine, and my heart stung.
Needing an outside perspective, I called my mom and put her on speakerphone. She’s a seasoned mother of eight, having spent 26 years fostering and adopting children, so I hoped she’d have words of solace.
On speaker, I explained the situation. My mom then told my daughter that some kids have parents who can never show up to any of their events or activities. She told her that this happening to her once could maybe help her understand how those other kids feel.
She spoke gently, and I appreciated that she reminded my daughter it was an accident and that she was loved. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d failed, the weight of “mom guilt”‘ pressed down, a heavy reminder of my lapse.
My daughter learned a lesson
Reinforcing my mother’s wisdom, etiquette consultant Jo Hayes emphasizes the importance of reframing parenting blunders without being defensive or dismissive. Modeling to my daughter that I can move past a mistake with grace and mercy “will give her the freedom to have grace and mercy for herself in such a situation,” Hayes told Business Insider.
Self-forgiveness is “part of being an emotionally healthy human,” she said. Adding that “experiencing disappointments and working through them, communicating through them, is how we build emotional resilience and wisdom, to be able to extend such grace and mercy.”
Next time, I’ll set a reminder on my phone, but I know I’ll misstep again in my parenting journey. Taking this advice to heart has helped me to let go and move forward.
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