What do you want to let go of today?

This summer, the girls and I joined a few other families for a beach getaway. Ryan couldn’t get off work, so I packed up and headed down Tuesday through Friday with the girls. Between the two of us, Ryan is the patient parent, and I always feel a little anxious traveling solo with the kids.

Zoe, our oldest, is usually calm and steady. Mia, our youngest, is a firecracker—and if I’m honest, we butt heads sometimes… probably because we’re so alike.

I planned to work remotely while we were there and had help lined up from Sonora, our friend’s older daughter who was staying in the house with us. I felt confident: the girls would be with Sonora during my work hours, soaking up beach and pool time. I packed their favorite snacks, activities, and had the mindset—I could do this.

And I did… until night two.

It was late, and although I’d promised the girls they could have a sleepover with Sonora, I could see their sleepy cues kicking in hard. They’d played all day in the sun, and it was past 9 p.m.—well beyond their usual bedtime. I calmly told them we needed to pivot: everyone would sleep in my room so we could rest.

That’s when Mia lost it.

She started crying and repeating, “BUT YOU PROMISED!”—over and over. And something about that repetition triggers me. It’s like she knows if she says it enough, I’ll cave. And truthfully, I’ve caved before. But this time, I couldn’t. They needed sleep, and I was trying to protect that.

I kept my voice steady, telling Mia I understood her disappointment, but sometimes parents have to change the plan. Still, she kept crying. Kept repeating. And then I bent down, looked her in the eyes, and said in a low, slow voice: “Will you just shut. up.”

Dammit.

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d crossed a line. It’s my job to stay calm. To model respect. To never say “shut up”—especially to my child. The guilt hit instantly. The shame followed.

Eventually, Mia calmed down after a 30-minute car ride with the windows down and the salt air on our faces. We finally got to bed at 10:30 p.m.—way past both our bedtimes.

The next morning, I walked into the kitchen for coffee and saw my dear friend Jen, Sonora’s mom. I told her what I’d said and how awful I felt. She looked at me and said, “Alexis, I’ve been there too. You’re not a bad mom.” Her words reminded me of something another friend once told me: “You’re not a bad mom. You just made a bad decision in the heat of the moment.”

And that couldn’t be more true.

I’m not a bad mom. I show up for my kids every day. I love them fiercely. I try my best.

On the drive down to the beach, I’d listened to an incredible podcast episode featuring Dr. Aliza Pressman. She shared five foundational principles for parenting—research-backed and deeply compassionate:

Interestingly, I had sent that episode to Jen as soon as we arrived at the beach, raving about how much I loved it and felt called to share it (I swear the universe is always watching).  That morning in the kitchen, she reminded me of it. She reminded me that messing up isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of repair.

Later that morning, I sat Mia down and apologized. I told her I was sorry for yelling, that my behavior wasn’t okay, and that I’m still learning how to be a mommy. I asked for her forgiveness.

And then something beautiful happened.

She looked at me and said, “Mommy, it’s okay. I forgive you. I’m still learning how to be the best I can too.”

We hugged. We healed. And we had a beautiful day at the beach.

It’s moments like this that inspired one of the adult prompts in our Sunshine & Agape journals:

That day, my answer was: the guilt that I’m a bad mom.

To all the mamas out there—I see you. Some days are hard. Some moments sting. But our children don’t need perfect parents. They need present ones. Ones who try, mess up, apologize, and grow.

So…

XX,

Alexis