I just yelled at my son.
I yelled at him in a way meant to scare him, meant to shake him to the core.
I yelled at him in a way that I only recall being yelled at once– it was that unforgettable.
I yelled at him out of frustration and anger and pure desperation.
I yelled in a way that if I witnessed it as an outsider, I would be unable not to judge– what kind of mother yells at her offspring like that?
I yelled in a way that I never want to again.
Because, now, he is drifting to sleep and the thought of my voice echoing in his head is tearing me apart.
And I wonder what kind of mother I am, to yell like that at the child I love with all of my being.
Tonight, it wasn’t the one I want to be.
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