My Two Year Old has Temper Tantrums

Okay, everybody. I have something to tell you.

My two year old...
...well, she has temper tantrums.

And my friends, I am talking about temper tantrums.

With all of the screaming, all of the hollering, all of the crying, all of the lying-on-the-ground-karate-chopping-the-air, that you could imagine. Our house is filled with these loud epic events, almost every day. Temper tantrums are a part of my reality.

Now, I know what you're thinking: of course your two year old has temper tantrums. You have a two year old. Your house is going to have temper tantrums.

And in all of your infinite wisdom, you'd be right. These tantrums are certainly a part of my existence that I should have expected (and really, that I did expect), but it's a part of my existence that made me feel entirely isolated until about two months ago.

You see, the tantrums themselves are not something I mind. They come and they go and we deal with them appropriately, attempting to keep the peace in this home as long as we can, some days with more success than others. I'm really not complaining: I myself had some serious screaming fits as a child (teen) and perhaps I sent a few toys or what-have-you flying across a room. This is life; I'm a mom, I had it coming, it's cool.

But what bothered me - what really unnerved me and gave me anxiety and an overall inability to cope properly during one of these toddler fits - was the flat-out lie that would begin to whisper in my ear that I was the only mother in this world that was dealing with these temper tantrums on a daily basis. That I was the only one deciding whether to yell, or to ignore, or to time-out, or whatever it may be, and the thought drilled itself into my head as a perpetual lie telling me that not only was I a terrible parent for not appeasing my child's every desire (hence the tantrum), but that I was the only one going through this learning experience in the world, ever.

And somehow, as it happens when a voice whispers often enough and loud enough, I believed it.

When I look around my community, I see mothers doing a fantastic job with their kids - they're patient and happy and calm, even when their children are not. Most of the time, I'm pretty sure I'm one of these great mothers, too: my babies know they're loved, they generally have clothes on their bodies, and they get a bath once in a while. Our house has toys and music and dancing and movies and dishes everywhere and we go outside pretty frequently. Not bad, right? Most moments, I'd agree with you.

Until we enter the tantrum zone. The screaming starts and the whisper begins to repeat: I'm alone. I'm doing this wrong. Nobody else has to deal with this. Like a broken record, I hear it over and over again, above all the noise, above all the screaming, through all the kicking and hitting and chaos, a whisper just loud enough to cover it all. I have to put my hands over my eyes, my ears, to block it all out, and anxiety sets in. This is what happens. I'm being real with you here. I can take the tantrum, but I can't take the isolation.

For the last year or so, John and I and our daughters have lived in a pretty amazing little community with a tight-knit church that feels more like an extended family, with all of the aunts and uncles and cousins running around and grabbing at your feet and it's kind of messy sometimes but it's fun. We live around a really big Little Band of Characters and as you might imagine, we love it.

Well, this family had a girls' night out back in March. About as tame as it gets, a large group of us gathered at a local coffee shop - most of us tired moms, two of us with newborns, sipping teas and tearing coupons for cookies - and we began to chat. We chatted about easy things: the spring that seemed like it would never come, the last week's sermon, the items of clothes we'd thrifted or splurged on. And in the middle of chatting about these easy things, I felt something break in me and I spilled it: I was wiped. I had a newborn and a child having screaming fits and virtually no time to myself and I didn't know what to do.

And in spilling it, a friend confided back: she had yelled at her child earlier that week. Things around her house got chaotic and overwhelming for a short time and a yell came out and she could barely believe it - this was so not like her. And then another friend chimed in that her house was, some days, like a war zone and she didn't know if she was handling it properly. She asked out loud if she was "messing up" her daughter (which, for the record, she is not). And more women came forward in conversation to share their grievances and although I mourn that we live in a fallen world where things can get tired there was a part of me that flew like a kite and I felt real, true community and togetherness and - dare I say it - sisterhood. It was in those moments of vulnerability that I was able to call out those whispers I'd heard as lies and hold onto the truth that my two year old might have temper tantrums, but I have community.

Just like me, there are moms who ask themselves if they're doing it right, or if they're messing things up, or if things are really okay at all. And although we don't have the answers, we have each other to lean on and confide in another, and ask questions together.

Since that night at the coffee shop, my toddler has had dozens of temper tantrums, each louder than the last, each with the ability to put me into the spin of anxiety I had once experienced.

But since that night at the coffee shop, I have known the truth: I am not alone. For every screaming fit I face, there's a mom down the road facing one, too. I can imagine us air-high-fiving through it all, taking in a deep breath and setting the clock for a time out. I can focus on the situation at hand instead of the imaginary cause for self pity that I once accepted. It doesn't take the tantrums away, but thinking of the reality that moms across my community are doing this together, removes all isolation and brings me closer to my sisters.

So next time you feel alone, air your grievance: appreciate the wonder that is your beautiful child, and let another mama know the unique challenges your home faces today. If she's real with you, if she's honest with you, she will help you feel the kind of togetherness that will propel you through the next episode and support you through your day.