I’m sorry. I’m sorry for screaming. I’m sorry that I made you cry. I’m sorry for losing my temper. That I made you look at me that way.

But in this very moment I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t adult. Couldn’t be reasonable. Couldn’t be patient. And loving. And calm.

In this very moment, I was just human. Not a mum. Nor a superhero. Nor a machine. I was just me. And I wanted to cry.

I wanted to take that bowl and throw it on the floor. I wanted to scream at you and tell you that I was ready to give up. That I was ready to open that door and walk out. And never come back.

In this very moment, I had no energy anymore. To find yet another distraction. Yet another toy.

So, I screamed. I yelled. I made you cry.

I screamed because I felt helpless. Clueless. Alone. I screamed because I had tried everything. And nothing would work.

I screamed at the doctor and all the good advice. I screamed at the scale and the numbers. For showing the same weight all over and over again. I screamed at your brother for distracting you from eating. And most of all, I screamed at myself. For not having the patience needed. For being tired. For failing again…

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for screaming. I’m sorry that I made you cry. I’m sorry for losing my temper. That I made you look at me that way.