The Moms Are (Still) Not Alright
Parenting feels hard because it is hard.
The was first posted to Mockingbird Ministries Blog.
The dread can hit anywhere, anytime. Last week, I was in the fancy grocery store, where I met my friend for prepackaged sushi from a refrigerator case in the back. We sat in the little dining space at the front of the store where just moments earlier, my friend had stopped a fire from breaking out in the communal microwave. An older woman had microwaved foil. My phone rang and the dread took over — the fire was the least of my worries. Every phone call from the school or even an unknown caller with a similar area code can make my head pound. Before I accepted the call, I ran through the list of things I would need to cancel for the afternoon.
Just a few days before, my kindergartener arrived at the nurse’s office with a headache and was sent home from school. She could not return until she had a negative PCR test. Every unexpected ring of my iPhone prompts the same reaction: a triaging of the day, a plan for finding a testing appointment, an end to any hope of productivity or a moment to myself. And all of that bubbles to the surface before I pick up the call.
This time, the call was from another mom trying to figure out how to get our kids together. Not the school. Not any nurse or health professional. My voice gave away my excitement. This mom thought I was thrilled to hear from her. In reality, I was just so glad it was not the nurse. The unpredictable nature of parenting now — will my children have school today? Will they get sent home? Will they get sick? Will I be able to plan anything in advance ever again? Am I going crazy? — adds another layer of anxiety to already anxious parents.
About a year ago, I wrote my first parenting post for Mockingbird. At that point, most of us were still staying home, working, raising children and distancing socially. It felt unbearable and overwhelming to wear different hats every day, multiple times a day. My normal roles of mother, chauffeur, personal chef, laundress, tutor, and after school camp director were exhausting. Over the course of 2020, we added the roles of amateur epidemiologist, public health officer and politically engaged citizen, possibly junior political commentator for some of us. By February 2021, most of us had had enough.
If we hoped for better circumstances for the end of 2021 and the beginning of 2022, we are sorely disappointed. Now, all of the stress remains present, but inconsistent. Being a parent in 2022 feels confusing, draining and never-ending.
Some of this stems from the idolization of parenting, and motherhood especially, as a noble and excellent calling, one that we do only out of pure love and generosity. In her latest newsletter, Anne Helen Petersen interviewed Meg Conley about the idolization of motherhood, especially on Instagram. Conley said, “So much of the way motherhood is represented on social media is a performance. But the people performing and the people viewing pretend it’s not a performance.” Petersen adds, “[In one of these momfluencer accounts, there are] a handful of myths on display: you really can go back to the land, you can have six children and still perfectly comply with body and beauty ideals, you don’t need makeup to be beautiful or a gym to discipline your body because you can just braid your hair and dance with your children and/or husband, you can make money off farming, the list goes on.”
We know these perfect moms of 2022 are a myth; they are just a story we tell ourselves or are told by others. And yet, we still believe we can somehow become them.
Some days it feels possible. Some days I wonder at the creativity of my children, at their imaginations and ability to see something in nothing. Their insights and knowledge and passion for their knowledge, especially when it comes to graphic novels, dazzle me. Happily, I sit at the table and do arts and crafts with them or hold them close while they read Pete the Cat very slowly.
Many days, this joy does not feel possible. Somedays I throw all the artwork in the trash. I make piles of stuff on the stairs and yell at them when they do not carry it up to their rooms. Long-lasting conversation about sports or Minecraft do not spark joy. Their imaginary stories become too convoluted for me and my impatient brain. I fall asleep while they read Pete the Cat aloud to the tune of Girl Put Your Records On, over and over.
Recently, moms have been wondering if it’s worth it. Books like Jessamine Chan’s The School for Good Mothers and movies like Maggie Gyllenhaal’s The Lost Daughter have touched a cultural nerve. Both address the consequences of mothers’ abandonment of their children. Writers have been moved by both the book and the film to consider the weight of parenting in our era as well as the lack of joy in motherhood these days.
“One of my favorite bumper stickers reads “Am I the perfect mom? No. But am I trying to be the perfect mom? Also no.””
At first, this cultural conversation about mothers leaving their children worried me. This is not a sustainable or even logical option. Are moms just going to walk away from their children and families at higher rates? The discourse has not be particularly optimistic.
We deem bad mothers irresponsible, maybe even villains, which is a large part of why these books and movies resonate. These mothers are the antithesis of momfluencers. Is this what a bad mom look like?
Is she as selfish as we imagine? Or did she just have enough of performing? The pressure to be a good mother is often unrelenting and most of us, at least at times, feel like we will never be good enough.
But something in me sees cause for hope. We are finally admitting that the way we have been parenting is not working. It is unsustainable to think we can be everything at all times. Something has to give. But it is not our children or even our roles that need to be set aside. I think what these women are writing about is the desire to move the goalposts, to not exalt momfluencers. Rather, these women are admitting we cannot performatively parent anymore.
The desire to have a break from our children and our roles as mothers is not because we do not love them. I think we are interested in these women who do walk away because we see in them our own crushing desire to be perfect mothers. We understand their decision. And that realization terrifies us. We carry the burden of our children’s well-being and future until we are exhausted.
The child psychologist and podcast host Dr. Becky Kennedy has a saying that I repeat to myself quite a bit. “Parenting feels hard,” she says, “because it is hard.” Such a simple sentence but the freedom implied is enormous. Being a mom in 2022 is like being enlisted to compete for Olympic gold as a bobsledder — except the closest you’ve ever been to a track was that one time you once saw Cool Runnings when you were 10. So you slide down at 70mph not knowing what curve comes next while believing (against all odds) you will magically break the world record. We do not need to pretend parenting is always an Instagram-worthy blast. We do not need to wonder why we are overwhelmed or stressed. It is hard. Say it with me: “Parenting is hard.”
2022 parenting is impossible but our hope comes not from the fantasy of time alone or abandoning our roles as parents — or even from trying harder to be a better mom, but from the God who does not abandon us, who is with us always and who loves our children even more than we ever could. He has never let our children out of his hands, just as he has never let us fall through the cracks. His love is steadfast, regardless of our desire to quit or give up.
One of my favorite bumper stickers reads “Am I the perfect mom? No. But am I trying to be the perfect mom? Also no.” I know the former to be true. I am not perfect. I am working on the latter. I can give up my trying. Instead of leaving our children behind, perhaps we can leave our ideals of motherhood behind, resting in the love that will never leave us.
