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Today, my toddler had a full-on, Oscar-worthy, soul-shaking meltdown because… her banana broke in half.
Let that sink in.
Not because she was hurt. Not because something truly tragic happened.
Just… because the banana – her banana snapped under its own weight and betrayed her completely.
And she lost it.
Tears. Sobs. Guttural wails. She crumpled to the floor like her tiny heart had shattered right alongside that banana.
And you know what I did?
I stared at her. Exhausted. Half-frustrated, half-fascinated. And then completely unexpectedly I felt this wave of emotion rise up in me.
Because I’ve been there.
Not with a banana, obviously. But with life.
When something small happens something that shouldn’t be a big deal and suddenly you’re unraveling.
Like how your husband forgot to take the trash out again and somehow it cracks open all the loneliness and pressure you’ve been stuffing down for days.
Or when you burn dinner after holding it together through a week of sick kids and deadlines, and suddenly you’re crying in the kitchen over a pan of charred chicken nuggets.
I’ve broken down, too. I just don’t scream on the floor. I clench my jaw. I busy my hands. I swallow the feeling and keep going.
But my toddler?
She feels it.
All of it.
Right out loud.
The Truth Wrapped in a Tantrum
Her tantrum wasn’t just noise. It was truth. It was vulnerability in its rawest form.
And sitting there, holding this tiny person who’d just experienced her first great fruit betrayal, I realized something no therapist has ever quite nailed for me:
We are all just kids in grown-up bodies, trying to figure out how to hold the weight of the world without dropping it.
My daughter doesn’t have coping mechanisms.
She has me. She has tears. She has trust that the world will hold her when she falls apart. She expects it to.
When did I stop expecting that for myself?
What She Reminded Me
In that moment, her meltdown wasn’t an inconvenience. It was a mirror. One I didn’t ask for, but definitely needed.
She reminded me:
- It’s okay to fall apart. I don’t always have to be strong. Sometimes, I just need to let the feeling crash through me and breathe on the other side.
- You don’t have to explain why something hurts to ask for comfort. “It’s just a banana” isn’t helpful when your heart says, “This is too much.” Same goes for me. “It’s just dishes” or “It’s just bedtime” doesn’t mean it isn’t breaking me tonight.
- Love doesn’t leave when you’re messy. After the storm passed, she crawled into my arms, cheeks still damp, and whispered, “Mama, I okay now.” And she was. And I was. Because love stayed through the storm. That’s the kind of love I want to give myself, too.
The Kind of Mom (and Woman) I Want to Be
Not the one who never cracks.
Not the one who has Pinterest-worthy patience 24/7.
But the one who says, “Me too,” when her child falls apart.
The one who sits on the floor when needed.
The one who learns from a tantrum how to be a little more honest, a little more tender, with herself.
So yeah, therapy is great. (No shade to my therapist she’s a queen.)
But sometimes, the lesson doesn’t come from a couch and a co-pay.
Sometimes, it comes from a broken banana and a barefoot toddler who doesn’t yet know how to fake being fine.
And honestly? I hope she never learns.
Mama, if today was hard, or loud, or tear-soaked (yours or theirs), take a breath.
You are doing a beautiful job. Not a perfect one. Not a polished one. But a deeply human, heart-led, courageous job.
Now go hug your little life coach and maybe… just maybe let yourself break a little too. You’ll be okay again. Promise.
