Hey Moms—You Are Not Failing, Even When It Feels Like You Are

I’m failing at motherhood.

That phrase echoes through my mind like an annoying Nickelback song. I’m failing. I’m screwing them up. I’m not cut out for this. La la la la la la. 

Those thoughts happen frequently around here. This mama—with her high ideals, goals, and hopes—can sometimes feel too intensely the distance between what she is and what she wishes she were. It feels far, like forever, like failure, even though it’s not. It’s the perfectionist’s illusion, like those funhouse mirrors that make your chin look three feet long.

And I’m a pro at filling that space with what I’m doing wrong. I’m being too lenient. I’m being too authoritative. I’m not expecting enough of them. I’m expecting too much of them. I’m not being consistent enough. I spend too much time working. I’m not staying on top of the mess. I should be reading to them more. I should be reading to myself more. We should be eating dinner around the dinner table more. We should play more games as a family. I’m not being patient enough. I should do that Pinterest project with them. I should get to bed earlier. I’m not organized enough. I’m not setting a good example.

I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I should. I should. I should.  

That’s the language of failure. Those are the words I flog myself with.

But when I force myself to take a different perspective, to really look at the three growing humans in my charge, to remember the end goal, I see something else. Other than the perpetually messy house (three kids homeschooling and two parents working from home can do that), the evidence in front of me doesn’t indicate failure. The kids are alright. They’re doing quite well, in fact. They’re learning. They’re growing. They’re getting through their challenges, even when the process is bumpy. They know they are loved. They help when asked, usually without too much complaining. They care about others. They set goals for themselves. They make mistakes and learn from them. They drive me crazy, then tell me I’m the best mommy in the world.

They’re not perfect, but they’re not supposed to be. I’m not supposed to be, either. That’s not the end goal. Perfection is not the end goal. 

The end goal is whole, uniquely functioning humans who contribute to the betterment of the world in their own way and strive to live their lives with love, joy, and compassion. Those are high ideals, but not impossibly high. Naturally, our kids will face challenges along the way. They’ll have their own failures and perceived failures. They’ll have their own I’m nots and I shoulds, just like you and me.

But maybe those thoughts have their place. After all, ideals aren’t a bad thing. Perhaps a small shift from I’m not and I should to I want to would help. Maybe instead of flogging ourselves for what we’re not, we can embrace the fact that we are always striving for improvement. Maybe instead of using those goals as indicators of failure, we can see them as signs that we care deeply about being the best we can be. As long as they don’t become impossible standards, high ideals can simply be motivators.

I’m not failing. Neither are you. We’re striving. We’re caring. We’re doing our best. That’s really all any of us can do.

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