I heard my own tone and hated it

Dear Delyara, One child asked me a normal question. I answered with a tired edge. That’s all. Three seconds. A small moment. Nothing anyone else in the house would probably even remember by bedtime. I remembered it. I always do. I think one of the hardest parts of motherhood is how quickly your depletion can become audible before you get a chance to edit it back into something kinder. Love is still there. Intention is still there. But the body is overused, the day is too full, and then one sentence leaves your mouth carrying more fatigue than the child deserved. I apologised. They were fine. I still wasn’t.