I knew what to do, but I still snapped. Ugh. Here’s why

It started with a snack.
Just one more snack.

My kid asked, loudly, while the pasta boiled over, my little girl clung to my leg, and my phone buzzed with a work message I’d forgotten to answer. I was already overstimulated, touched out, and hanging on by a thread.

I didn’t pause. I didn’t breathe.
I snapped.

Not because I didn’t know what to do. I teach this stuff. I literally have scripts for this moment. But in that second, my body was done. My nervous system hit the limit. And it didn’t matter what I knew, my body said “No more.”

And that’s the part so many of us miss:
Knowing isn’t the problem. Capacity is.

Understanding Your Nervous System Isn’t Optional, It’s Essential.

Here’s the thing: you’re not overreacting because you’re a bad parent.
You’re reacting because your body is in survival mode.

When you’re surrounded by noise, constant demands, a mess that never ends, and zero margin for yourself, your nervous system doesn’t feel safe. And when your body doesn’t feel safe, your brain flips into protect mode.

That’s the moment you yell.
Or walk away.
Or say something you regret.

Because your system was never meant to carry this much without support.

We don’t talk enough about overstimulation in parenthood.
The way a toy’s repetitive song makes your skin crawl.
How ten questions in a row feel like actual needles.
How your body tenses at the sound of one more whine, one more cry, one more request.

This isn’t weakness. This is biology.

I Had the Tools. I Teach This. I Still Lost It.

And that’s what gutted me.
Because after I snapped, the shame flooded in.

I knew what to say.
I knew how to breathe.
I knew how to model calm.

But I still lost it. And then I cried while stirring spaghetti.

But this is where the work begins, if we let it,  not in being perfect, but in being honest.

I’m not a therapist because I have it all figured out. I’m a therapist and a mom. And I’m still learning to notice my body’s cues, honor my needs, and pause before I hit the edge.

A Practice That’s Helped Me

When I feel that tightness creep up, I use this mantra:
“Pause first. Regulate me. Then lead them.”

It’s simple but powerful.

Sometimes that pause is 10 seconds of silence while I rinse a dish.
Sometimes it’s putting my hand on my heart and whispering, “This isn’t an emergency.”
Sometimes it’s walking outside for 60 seconds while they’re crying inside.

It’s not about getting it perfect. It’s about noticing it sooner.

Even though this sounds weird. The goal isn't to never snap. That’s not realistic.
The goal is to understand what’s happening in you, so you can come back faster, repair with more intention, and build safety with your child, even when things go sideways.

Because that moment? After the snap?
That’s where the magic happens.
That’s where trust is built.
That’s where they learn what love looks like in the real world.

So if today was messy, if you lost your cool, if you’re carrying guilt

You’re not alone. You’re human. And you’re doing the work.

Keep going. I’m right there with you.