Messy Minded Momma

Google says this phase lasts about six weeks for toddlers, but my 4.5-year-old has been running with it for months now.

He steps in the snow after taking his boots off, and suddenly I’m rude. How dare I bring snow inside on his boots. The dog knocks over his magnet-tile masterpiece, and now he hates her. I need a minute to finish cooking dinner, so when I ask him to wait a minute after the twelfth “watch this” of the hour, I’m disrespecting his words. My personal favourite is bath time — when shampoo runs into his eyes after I remind him to tilt his head back, and I’ve apparently disrespected his body. Truly unforgivable behaviour on my part.

As exhausting as it is, I have to give him credit. These moments are huge in his world. And while he often can’t articulate how he’s feeling, the times he repeats phrases he’s clearly heard me say — “you’re not respecting my words” — honestly make me laugh inside. As frustrating as it is to constantly hear that you’re hated, rude, or being yelled at, I can’t help but think I must be doing something right if he feels safe enough to express himself this freely. I never would have told my parents I hated them — especially not at four years old.

Still, I feel stuck in this constant parenting tug-of-war: gentle parenting (how I want to raise my child) versus fear-based parenting (how I was raised), trying to land somewhere in the middle. I’m simultaneously re-parenting the little girl in me while parenting my child, managing my husband’s emotions, and navigating our dog’s growing anxiety. It’s… a lot.

On days when nothing goes right for our son — when he hates everything and everyone — the house becomes pure chaos. My ADHD cannot handle the whining, and my internal beaker starts to bubble. The dog barks because my son is trying to hit her for knocking over his structure (even though he knows hands are for hugging). The TV hums in the background. My husband gets louder because he thinks I can’t hear him over the noise — meanwhile his voice is so deep and bass-heavy I could hear it if he were outside and I were upstairs with the door closed.

My beaker rises fast as “I hate you!” and “you’re so rude!” echo through the house. I try deep breathing. I try counting to ten. And then I explode. I declare “enough” and physically remove each family member from the shared space we’re in. And that’s where the mom guilt creeps in — because instead of removing myself, I sit in the chaos until we’re all past our limits.

Being neurodivergent makes it incredibly hard to focus on connection over correction when things spiral. In those moments, my thinking brain is completely offline — no signal, no reconnection possible.

I’d be lying if I said this “I hate you” phase didn’t trigger me. My husband taking our son’s words personally only adds fuel to the fire. But even on the hardest days, I’m still here. Showing up. Repairing and validating feelings. Trying to break generational cycles. Every single day.

And maybe that counts for more than getting it perfect.