I have been talking to other mothers recently. Other mothers who have admitted to me that they struggle with this motherhood thing. I think many of us believe that everyone else has it all figured out. I’m here to tell you *Not me*. I make fails. *All time*.
So. Full disclosure time.
I think being a mother is difficult. Very very difficult. Much more difficult than she expected it to be. There is something to do, all the time, every day. And there’s never enough time to do it all. This summer, there were times when I spent an entire day and in the end realized that I never showered or brushed my teeth. Ew.
Being a parent with a partner is hard. My husband and I come from very different parenting philosophies. We don’t just disagree sometimes, we *bump*. It’s hard, VERY hard, to find the common ground our children need and deserve. It’s getting easier. But it is not easy. I don’t know that it ever will be.
*Longing* tranquility and calm. Children are loud and active. There are times when I ask my 5 year old son to please stop talking for 5 minutes. And then I feel very, very guilty because I know how many parents would give anything for their biggest problem to be a 5-year-old who talks too much.
There are times when I find parenting extremely boring. Moments where I feel like I’m stuck in a Groundhog Day episode. Moments where I pretend I’m playing a game or reading a book while actually taking (another) furtive glance at the clock to see how much until bedtime.
And let’s talk about some of the mistakes I make. Ready? (Deep breath here…)
Too often when I try to get things done, I treat my kids as interruptions instead of the beautiful, fun, amazing kids they are. Sometimes I am too critical of my children. I hope too much. I am very, very, *very* cranky in the middle of the night. There are times when I have parented from a place of frustration or anger instead of a place of calm. Although this doesn’t happen often, it has happened *too* often. I have yelled. Very loud. I’ve said cruel things that I immediately wanted to take back. Although I don’t believe in spanking, I did give James a pat on the butt. I grabbed his arm too tightly. And there is nothing, nothing, that I regret more than the parenting that happens in those moments of frustration.
Then what do I do?
I apologize. When I realize I’ve made a parenting mistake, especially if I’ve overreacted to something, I tell James. I apologize for my actions. I explain to him that it’s not about him, that it’s about me. I tell him that everyone makes mistakes and that I just made one. I’m not sure if this is the correct approach, but I do it anyway.
I try to see the shades of gray. I am a perfectionist. I have very high standards for many people, including myself. And when I fail, especially in motherhood, I sometimes find myself thinking in black and white where the world consists of good moms or bad moms. I’ve made mistakes, so I’m a bad mother. A bad mother who ruined *everything.* So I try harder to perfect myself, to avoid mistakes, to make everything right again. But this black-and-white thinking only makes me more anxious, more prone to being nervous, more prone to making the very mistakes I was already punishing myself for. Over time, I’ve learned to forgive myself more quickly for mistakes, even when I feel like I don’t deserve it. I try to remember that the road is long and that I will have many, many more chances to make things right. I remind myself that real-life parenting involves very little black and white and lots of shades of gray. I’m not the best mom in the world, but I’m not a terrible mom either. And I don’t have to be perfect to be a good mother and raise happy children.
I talk to other moms. I listen to their struggles and know that I am not alone. Behind the shiny exteriors we present to the outside world, we are all fighting an internal battle to do the best we can, with what we have, and to love ourselves despite the mistakes we make.
I try again. And again, and again, and again.
In the end, isn’t that all we can do?