There is no perfect mother.
If there is one thing that has tripped me up most as a mum, especially in the early years of this, it’s the belief that somewhere, out there, was The Perfect Mother. Sometimes she was my own mother. Sometimes she was someone online. Sometimes she was someone at church or at the playground. I’d see one brief moment of her life, or hear her speak, or see her kids, and think, I bet she never resents wiping bums or feels bored, I bet she never feels so tired that even her eyebrows are aching, I bet she loves every single minute of this mothering thing and I bet her kids listen to classical music and never bicker. I bet she’s a better mother than me.
That just isn’t true, The Perfect Mother only exists in the land of unicorns. And the sooner you realise that we’re all in this together, that most of us feel guilty or inadequate sometimes, that most of us will freely admit to feeling overwhelmed or tired, you’ll relax that death grip of high expectations on yourself to be perfect.
This letter is part of the Mother Letters project. My friends, Amber and Seth, are leading this project and I think it matters, I think you’ll find freedom there.
You’re welcome to join in. Just write a letter to a mother and link up here.
You can buy the Mother Letters e-book here. (There’s even a photo of me and Evelynn Joan in there. And that’s an affiliate link.)