I Hate My Kids… But I Love Them So Much: Honest Thoughts on Parenting.

Having my first child at 16 and my last (number five) at 27, I can tell you this: the parent I was at 16 was not the same person I became at 27. From being a child myself to becoming an adult, a lot in me changed.

When I was younger, I went with the flow—growing up alongside my children, trying to raise them the way my mother raised me. Something I had vowed I wouldn’t do. But the reality is, we often become our own mothers, whether we like it or not.

Of course, the more children you have, the harder life gets. Parenting struggles are real. Responsibilities multiply. The honest truth? Some days, I hated my kids. They came on my nerves. It was a constant chorus of “Mum… Mummmm… Mother… I need… I want…” I felt like I had no identity. They tested every ounce of patience in me.

And yet… in a blink of an eye, I loved them to bits. Every look, every laugh, every little gesture melted me. They gave me purpose. Between these two extremes—frustration and love—I often felt completely drained.

Now, as my children have grown—two of my boys are adults and my girls are in their teens—I see the blessings of all the hard work. But still, I worry I didn’t do enough. Maybe I wasn’t a “good” parent. As mothers, our deepest fear is always that we’re failing. But maybe that’s exactly what being a parent is: stumbling, getting up, learning, and figuring it out along the way. We will never reach perfection, just as our children won’t.

Parenting is messy, exhausting, frustrating, and yet utterly beautiful. This love-hate journey of raising kids is real. And somehow, somehow, it’s worth every chaotic, overwhelming, heart-melting moment.

Parenting is imperfect, chaotic, and beautiful—and that’s exactly why it’s worth it.

Another thought from a Chaotic Mind.