I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at myself through tears. On the brink of rage.

I’d had enough of being my child’s emotional anchor that day. I was tired of meeting her needs.

She was on the sofa crying, I was in the bathroom.

I had walked away from her in her moment of need.

I needed to do one thing for myself.

I was going to brush my teeth.

The whole time, I could hear her crying, not too far from where I was.

She felt bad after her last attempt at hitting me. She needed me to hold her. To remind her that no matter what her body does when her emotions get too big, that she is always loved.

I knew she needed me to get back out there with the presence and holding to convey that love.

And so I prepared myself. To do the regulating thing. To breathe. To take a minute. To meet one small need of my own, which in that moment, was brushing my teeth. Slowly, noticing the way every part of my gums felt as I passed the brush over every tooth.

I knew that getting back out there meant holding the unpredictable mix of exhaustion, sadness, frustration and aggression that might escape from her little body when I did.

Her little body, full of so many emotions. Felt so big and powerful against my tired and defeated one.

Because when we have been trying to self-regulate our emotions all day long, this is how we start to feel. Like it's them against us.

But on this day, as I stood there, ready to regulate once more, I heard the door open.

My partner had returned.

And I heard him go straight to the sofa and be the loving container she was needing.

I heard her say through her tears, “My mom is angry. And when she’s angry it feels like she doesn’t love me.”

“Eso se siente muy feo" (That’s a really hard thing to feel), he replied.

And with those words, her tears of sadness began to flow. The healing ones. The kind we cry when we feel safe enough to move beyond our protective crusts of anger.

This shift in the energy. This relieving of my duty to help her find her tears of sadness on my own. This small break, is what gave me the space to walk out and say to her, “I never stop loving you. I’m so sorry it feels that way when my feelings get big and I can't help you with yours. I’m going to take you to the bed. And then have a shower. And then come be with you until you fall asleep.”

I knew my partner could be there for her while I cried in the shower. While my own anger and overwhelm melted into the soft sadness and grief beneath.

I was supported. Not only with the physical and emotional work involved in caring for my daughter in that moment. But energetically. His presence helped regulate me too.

I don’t have this kind of support most of the time. My partner doesn’t live with me, and I am solo parenting 80% of the time. And when I lived with my daughter's father, I carried a large part of the parenting responsibilities. Especially the emotional ones.

No wonder I was easily drawn to learning techniques for SELF-regulation. I mean, when you are doing this all by yourself…

And you know what? Self-regulation skills can be incredibly helpful when we are feeling overwhelmed or triggered.

But I don’t believe we are meant to have to self-regulate as often as most of us do every day.

We are meant to have not only the physical and emotional help of a loving village, but the presence of their bodies to help regulate and sooth our nervous systems when we are stressed.

It is unrealistic (and unfair!) to think that we are supposed to reach some point of self-regulation mastery in order to do gentle parenting right.

I have listened to so many parents wonder if there is something particularly wrong with them because of how hard it feels to be present for their kids the way they want to be.

There is not. And there is nothing wrong with you.

It’s not just about your trauma. (Although acknowledging your story and learning to bring care to yourself when it still hurts, is crucial.)

It’s just as much because you are probably doing this parenting thing without enough people to help, for too long. Even if you are partnered, and dividing up the work in an egalitarian way. We are supposed to do this with more support. A lot more.

And our society is set up to make it incredibly difficult to actually get this kind of help.

I can’t give you a magical formula for getting the village you need. I can’t even tell you it’s possible in the short term.

But I do want you to know that when it is hard, it is because you are a human. When it feels lonely, it is because you are just like every other human who needs to feel cared for and supported as you move through life.

I want you to know this, because I want you to give yourself a break. A pat on the back even. I want you to notice and say things to yourself like, “wow, look at you!” when you masterfully hold space for a tantrum or create a moment of connection.

And I want you to acknowledge that you are worthy of abundant support and care, even if it feels impossible to attain at the moment.

And if you have an emotional village, I want you to feel reaffirmed in this.

None of us are broken. None of us are actually alone. And we are doing some pretty amazing things in our lives despite the huge challenges.

So keep going. Keep resting. And get support where you can.