Edwina Bartholomew: I’m suffering motherhood rage

Most days, mums can keep their cool. But sometimes the rage is just too hard to maintain, writes Edwina Bartholomew.

I’m angry. Not out-of-control, blow-my-top angry, all the time. I’m just a bit frustrated and it’s beginning to show. It’s called “motherhood rage” or “mom rage”, as it’s more commonly referred to in the land of therapy and counselling, the US.

It’s that feeling you get when the food is thrown on the floor, again; when you are racing out the door and your toddler refuses help; when you are falling asleep with exhaustion and they are still wide awake.

Most days, you can keep it together and maintain your cool. You cook something else, you patiently wait by the front door, you read yet another story and relish the cuddles that won’t last for long.

But as every mother knows, life is not always rainbows and lollipops and sometimes your temper can get the better of you.

“Life is not always rainbows and lollipops.” Picture: Getty Images

My beautiful friend, Nikki posted about Motherhood Rage on social media this week. The response was overwhelming because we rarely talk about it honestly.

She wrote, “Who is this person? The person who yells and slams doors, who feels so overwhelmed with her own emotions that the only thing left to do is let it out in one catastrophic swoop”.

I’ve been there, and I’m not very proud of it. One frustrating night, I told my bewildered husband that I was finished for the day at 6pm, took myself to bed and left him with both the kids and all the mess.

Edwina Bartholomew and her daughter Molly. photo Instagram

I have found myself shouting into a dark void two rooms away to: “just eat the ducking nuggets” and yes, that avian auto-correct spelling was deliberate for once.

Have you been there too? Your voice becomes strained, your brow furrowed, your muscles tighten. They are signs of a normal neurological reaction to a frustrating situation but when it involves kids it can leave you feeling very guilty and apologetic.

I’ve come up with my own coping mechanisms; twisting a towel in frustration at bath-time, keeping a pillow on standby to catch any swear words, and a flagon of wine after the kids go to bed.

In the US, they’ve come up with something more extreme. At the height of the pandemic, a group of mothers outside New York got together for their first primal scream event. They stood in the middle of a field and shouted into the ether to release their pent-up emotions.

Now that’s an idea. I know Nikki is in, and other mum friends. Get in touch if I can sign you up. BYO flagon.

Originally published as Edwina Bartholomew: I’m suffering motherhood rage