I pulled into my driveway, exhausted after attending college classes in the morning and cleaning strangers’ houses in the afternoon. As I was about to get out of the car, I realized I had completely forgotten about my most important job.
I’d driven all the way home without picking my son up from school.
Immediately, my heart sank! In that single moment, I felt like my life had come crashing down. I began to cry, overtaken by pure overwhelm and guilt. I was a single mother, a full-time college student and an entrepreneur running a small residential cleaning business. During the drive home, my mind had been preoccupied with assignments I had to submit, invoices I needed to send, and what I would cook for dinner. I was on autopilot as I simply turned down my street and into my driveway, momentarily forgetting that my 7-year-old son was waiting for me at school.
Typically, my life followed a routine: I would drop my son off at school, attend class, clean a house or two, pick my son up from school, spend time with him until he went to bed, then work on my business and do homework. On paper, this was perfect; it worked. But in reality, I was stretched to the limit, so thin that I had become transparent.
I drove straight to my son's school. When I arrived, I found him in the after-school program, doing homework. I was only 15 minutes late. When my son saw me, he seemed curious, but not upset. He didn’t know I’d forgotten him; he only knew I was a bit late. But the curiosity in his eyes, almost a quiet confusion, pierced my heart more than anything, because I knew. I knew I had forgotten him. The memory of him getting in the car and then asking me, “Mommy, why are you late?” is a scar on my heart that has lasted for over two decades.
The curiosity in his eyes, almost a quiet confusion, pierced my heart more than anything, because I knew. I knew I had forgotten him. The memory of him getting in the car and then asking me, 'Mommy, why are you late?' is a scar on my heart that has lasted for over two decades.
Looking back, I know there are far worse things a parent can do. But nonetheless, that moment of failure has had a lasting impact on me. After that day, I told myself I had to be more organized. I said to myself that the lesson was to have more calendars, more lists and a better routine. However, the true lesson, the one that wasn’t clear until some time had passed, was far more profound.
The lesson wasn’t just about the one time I forgot my son. The lesson was about the constant grinding pressure that led to my forgetting him. Being a mother was my primary identity. I was an excellent student. I had a thriving business. But I felt like I was failing as a mother. I felt ashamed of being so overextended. I didn’t have it all together like I thought, like I professed, and like everyone else thought.
I promised myself that I would no longer allow myself to be stretched too thin. As the years went on, I completed my undergraduate degree, earned my MBA, and then, years later, returned to graduate school to become a psychologist. I did all that with the silent whisper in my mind to always be mom first. Whenever I noticed I was in grind mode, I’d try to refocus, take a moment, and get back on course, ensuring I remained present.
Now, in my professional career, I teach others the same thing. Balance. We can be high-achieving and still avoid overwhelm. We don’t have to fall into the trap of seeing burnout as a badge of honor. We don’t have to build a flawless life, but we can work toward creating a resilient one. We can build a life where we have space for errors and where we can embrace self-compassion. We can forgive our younger selves for the mistakes we made.
My son is now a father himself. He’s a wonderful man with his own family. He doesn't remember me forgetting him, or if he does, he’s never said anything to me. But for me, the guilt from that day continues to inform my life because it became part of my identity as a mother. Whenever my son needs me, I go out of my way to make his life easier. If he needs a sitter, I say yes. When my grandkids have events, I do everything in my power to be there. When my son calls, I stop what I’m doing to answer. I often tell people that it’s my job as “Nana” to be there. It’s part of being a grandma. But in the back of my mind, I know that I’m still, in a thousand small ways, trying to make up for that one horrible afternoon that I forgot my son.
Healing from guilt and shame is not about erasing the memory. Healing means reminding myself to have self-compassion instead of contempt. Healing is about growing, creating new thought processes, and reframing “I failed as a mom” to “I was growing as a mom.”
The lesson from that day has continued to change. Now, it’s all about boundaries – not the ones we impose on others, but the boundaries I set with myself. I rest. I don’t over-schedule myself. I know that doing nothing is just as important as doing something. I give grace to myself when I can’t do everything, but I still put slight pressure on myself to do all that I can. Becoming a psychologist taught me a great deal about healing, forgiveness and grace – and how all of that must start with ourselves.
Angela Kenzslowe, Psy.D., MBA, is a licensed psychologist and a U.S. Army veteran who helps C-suite leaders build mentally healthy, high-performing organizations. She is a TEDx speaker and national media expert who has appeared on the TODAY Show and CNN's Anderson Cooper 360. Learn more at www.drangelakenzslowe.com or connect on LinkedIn.
All views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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