I am not the perfect mother. There. I’ve said it. I admit it.
This is ridiculous, isn’t it? This Myth. This Urban Legend. This something that every mother strives to be. An unrealistic goal. The impossible. The one that will drive us to the brink of the edge. A bait for failure; taunting us and mocking us. This ghost of bullshit we’re constantly chasing.
There’s so much pressure. This script of life, written with such bold perfection. This imaginary manual, one that’s shoved in your face the moment you bear a child. The lingering words haunting you, casting shadows of doubt, and questioning your every move. The worrying and the second guessing as the minutes slowly slip away. And the minutes into hours. And the hours into days.
Living in a lie. This charade. The self-preservation of image. This expectation, one that keeps getting higher and higher within each reach. This constant criticism. The whispering and the judging. The mommy-wars that is so very much alive and ingrained in our culture.
This is so damn hard
Motherhood isn’t a Rockwell painting. Life is not perfection. This is hard and this is confusing. There will be chaos. A constant struggle, one that we slowly learn to embrace. Being a mother means getting so frustrated, that occasionally in moments of clusterfucks, you let your emotions match and usurp theirs, and then you hang your head in shame that you acted like a three year old. Motherhood is showing your children the grace of humility. Mothers give forgiveness and ask her children for theirs. Life is giving yourself permission to fall, to make mistakes, and to find the courage to admit your faults. You fucked up, so what. You pick up the pieces, you learn from it, and you grow. To be a mother is to be human. This delicate lesson, we need to remind ourselves of again and again and again.
There will also be moments when you feel alive and invincible. When your instincts are golden. You will be laced with the most incredible sense of pride. Hold on to this. Hold on to every single thing, the good and the bad and everything in between. There is something so profoundly powerful in being vulnerable. Don’t deny yourself of this. The chance to find your inner strength. To admit that this is hard. Because then how can you truly appreciate the joys of parenthood when you’re living a lie.
This notion. The perfect mother. It’s not real. Let it go.