Have you ever felt like you’ve f*cked up as a parent?

Because I have. And I want to talk about it.

Let’s set the scene. It’s a Tuesday. The weather is going through a full-blown identity crisis—blizzard one day, sunny the next. And if I’m being honest, it feels like my son is doing the same thing. Up, down, all over the place emotionally. Honestly? Same.

This isn’t going to be a polished blog with 5 tidy parenting tips wrapped in a bow. This is for the widowed solo parents out there—the ones who love their kids fiercely but still end up yelling in the kitchen because the socks were in the wrong bin or because they just. Can’t. Take. One. More. Thing.

Because here’s the truth: I’ve felt like I completely screwed it all up as a parent. More than once. And I’m still here, parenting my kids, loving them hard, and learning how to show up better. And you are too.

We Are Human, Not Superheroes

Let me back up a second for those of you who don’t know me well yet.

I’m Sarah Gallagher. I founded The Days Are Full after becoming a widowed solo parent in my 30s. My husband, Myke, died suddenly, and I was left raising a toddler with another baby still a dream to come. That kind of trauma—grief in its rawest form—doesn’t just shake your world. It tears it up, sets it on fire, and asks you to keep parenting anyway.

Fast forward to today: I’m coming up on 11 years since his death. Eleven years of solo parenting, loving, grieving, navigating schools, tantrums, puberty, and everything in between. And still—there are days when I snap at my kids and think:

“Well, I f*cked that up, didn’t I?”

But here’s what I’ve learned (and what I want you to take in as truth): our kids don’t need perfect parents. They need present ones. Messy, honest, flawed humans who keep showing up.

The Emotional Weather of Our Kids

The day I recorded this video, my son was spiraling. Big emotions. Tough behavior. And I was riding that rollercoaster right alongside him, without a seatbelt.

If you’re solo parenting grieving kids, you know how fast their moods can change. Sometimes they’re sweet and open. Sometimes they’re angry or quiet or downright mean. And sometimes they throw things across the room because they miss their dad and don’t know what to do with the pain.

My son was doing all of that that day. And I wasn’t handling it gracefully. I was frustrated. Tired. Emotionally tapped out. And I yelled. Loudly.

Cue the guilt. Cue the spiraling thoughts. “I’m supposed to be the safe one.” “I’m screwing him up.” “If Myke were here, this wouldn’t be happening.”

It’s a familiar loop. And if you’re in it too—welcome. You’re not broken. You’re human.

The Myth of Calm at All Costs

There’s a lot of pressure on widowed parents, especially moms, to keep everything serene. To be the “calm in the chaos.” And sure, calm is a good goal. But perfection isn’t. In fact, it’s damaging.

Because when you’re holding down every corner of the fort by yourself, grief riding shotgun, and one or more kids triggering every nerve in your body, there’s no room for fake calm. That’s not regulation. That’s suppression.

And guess what? Your kids aren’t fooled.

They know when you’re holding back. They feel the tension. And ironically, it can make them more unsettled. Sometimes, expressing the frustration (appropriately, not destructively) is more honest and more helpful.

I want my kids to know that being overwhelmed doesn’t mean they’re wrong or broken—it just means they’re alive. And I model that not by pretending I’ve got it all figured out, but by admitting when I don’t.

The Moment After the Blow-Up

You know the moment. The yelling has happened. The door slammed. The tears (theirs and maybe yours too) are still hot in the air.

You sit down, shell-shocked. The shame creeps in.

That moment sucks. But it’s also an invitation.

Because what you do next is what matters most.

The rupture? That was human. The repair? That’s parenting gold.

And solo parents, I know it feels unfair that you don’t get a tag-out partner to help calm things down. But you still have the power to teach your child something profound in that moment: how to apologize, how to reconnect, how to move forward without pretending the rupture didn’t happen.

That day, I took a breath. I went to my son and said, “I’m sorry. I was too loud. I was too angry. That wasn’t okay.” I didn’t make excuses. I named what happened.

And then—this part still makes me tear up—he leaned into me and said, “I was really mad too. But I’m glad you came.”

We are teaching our kids how to handle hard things—not just with our wins, but with our repair.

If You’ve Ever Wondered If You’re Screwing This Up…

You’re probably the kind of parent who isn’t.

I know that sounds backwards. But stay with me.

The fact that you’re even reading this blog means you care deeply about how you’re showing up for your kids. You want to do better. You want them to feel safe, loved, and secure—even if you’re doing it while carrying your own grief and pain.

That’s not screwing up. That’s parenting with your whole heart, even when it’s broken.

You’re modeling resilience. You’re showing what it means to keep trying. And you’re giving your kids something far more powerful than a “perfect” childhood: a real one. One with honest emotions, hard conversations, and unconditional love.

What to Say When You Feel Like You’ve Blown It

Let me offer you a script. Not a fake apology. Not a lecture. Just words you can say the next time things go sideways:

• “I’m sorry I yelled. That wasn’t okay. I was overwhelmed, and I didn’t handle it well.”

• “You didn’t deserve that tone. I’ll work on doing better.”

• “I love you. Even when I’m upset, that doesn’t change.”

And then listen. Even if they grunt or walk away, your words are being received. Your repair matters. Your love is still the loudest thing in the room.

You’re Not Alone

I created my free Facebook group and coaching programs because I needed this kind of support. I needed someone to tell me I wasn’t a failure for crying in the laundry room. For feeding my kids cereal for dinner three nights in a row. For yelling and feeling like the world’s worst mother.

If that’s you today, I see you. I am you.

This road is hard. Grieving while parenting is a level of emotional labor no one prepares you for. But you are walking it with grace, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

What I Hope You Take With You

If nothing else, please remember this:

• Messing up doesn’t mean you’re messing them up.

• Repair matters more than perfection.

• You are allowed to have emotions too.

• Your grief doesn’t disqualify you from being a good parent. In fact, it might make you a more compassionate one.

• You can yell and still be a safe, loving parent—especially when you come back and reconnect.

You are not broken. You are doing the work of two parents. You are grieving and raising emotionally intelligent, resilient kids. And you’re doing it without a map.

But you are not doing it alone.

Want to keep going together?

💬 Join our free community of solo moms who get it: https://www.facebook.com/groups/widowedsoloparenting
🎧 Learn more about coaching, resources, and upcoming workshops: https://www.thedaysarefull.com

You’ve got this, even when it feels like you don’t. And if today was a day you “f*cked up”? You’ve got tomorrow to try again.