Yesterday morning, I lost my patience. It was my birthday, and it wasn’t how I wanted to start the day.
Maya was sitting on the stairs, calling out, “Daddy, daddy…” over and over again. She wasn’t upset. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She just wanted me. And instead of getting up or answering her calmly, I snapped. “For fuck’s sake, Maya. Just come downstairs.” The words came out faster than I could stop them, sharp, frustrated, completely unfair. And the moment they were out there, I knew it.
I went to her, picked her up, and held her. I told her I wasn’t upset at her, that I was just frustrated. She didn’t fully understand it, she’s three, but she leaned into me anyway. That moment stayed with me more than the one before it, because she didn’t pull away, she didn’t hesitate, she just came back to me. She didn’t deserve any of it, not even a little bit, and the fact that she still reached for me anyway says more about her than it does about me in that moment.
The truth is, I was already worn down. The pain had been sitting at that steady five or six, never going away, just grinding in the background. On top of that, I had just been dealing with a client situation I didn’t want to deal with at all, especially not on my birthday. She’s the kind of person who always seems to have a problem, the kind of person who probably shouldn’t be allowed to use a computer, and somehow those problems always seem to land at the worst possible time. By the time Maya called out from the stairs, I didn’t have much left. Not much patience, not much buffer, not much space between feeling something and reacting to it.
That’s the part no one really talks about. When you’re dealing with something constant, pain, stress, or frustration, it doesn’t stay contained. It leaks. It finds its way into your tone, your reactions, and the way you respond to the people closest to you. And unfortunately, those are the people who feel it first.
I wish I could say this was a one-time thing, but it’s not. There have been moments lately where I’ve felt that edge more often than I’d like to admit. Not always loud, not always obvious, but there, shorter answers, less patience, faster frustration. And every time, it leads to the same realization afterward. They didn’t cause this. They’re just on the receiving end of it.
That doesn’t make it okay. It explains it, but it doesn’t excuse it. There’s a difference.
What I’m starting to understand is that patience isn’t something you either have or don’t have. It’s something that gets worn down. When you’re dealing with constant pain, or stress, or just too many things stacking up at once, it wears down faster than you expect. By the time you realize it’s gone, you’ve already reacted.
So now I’m trying to catch it earlier. Not perfectly, not every time, but earlier. Recognizing when I’m already running low, pausing before I respond, taking a breath even if it’s a quick one, reminding myself that whatever is happening in that moment is probably not the thing I’m actually reacting to.
Because at the end of the day, Maya calling out “Daddy” from the stairs isn’t a problem. It’s a moment. And one day, it won’t happen anymore.
Maybe that’s part of this too, not just recognizing when we get it wrong, but showing our kids what it looks like to come back from it. To apologize, to take responsibility, to try again.
That doesn’t mean I’ll handle every moment perfectly. I won’t. But it does mean I’m paying attention now, and trying, in the next moment, to do better than I did in the last one.
