This Is A Freaking Hard Job!

“I’m a failure and I can’t do this and I’m having a meltdown. I have no identity! I just want a clean house for 5 seconds and to work on my snowboard apparel line and my blog. Do you know how many days I feel like the world’s worst mom because I can’t keep everything perfect and put away and laundry done and food perfectly prepared and served and look like a swimsuit model while I’m doing it?!” I texted my husband.

This is a freaking hard job! Being a parent I mean. The hardest there is, yet parenting experience counts for nothing on a resume (ergo, the feeling of having no identity).

No matter how many blogs are written about how the world should appreciate moms, I don’t feel better. I love my little ones and my getting-too-big ones more than anything, and I’m beyond proud of them — but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like a big fat failure occasionally.

Sometimes I feel like my spouse will never fully understand me, although he does notice when I’m having one of these meltdowns and it clues him in that it’s probably not the time of month to start constructively criticizing me. (Men are such problem solvers when all we women want to do is vent.)

Fewer and fewer women choose to be mothers these days. I have a theory that it involves a lot of fear. Fear of losing the lifestyle one loves… fear of the responsibility of shaping a life… fear of judgement and chastisement by those who “know best” how to raise a child — and yet we take on the daunting — and ultimately rewarding — task of raising children, in spite of all these fears.

The thought of failure used to paralyze me. I did everything I could to avoid it, even if it meant never trying something I just knew I wouldn’t be good at. But I’m not afraid anymore. I had to lose that fear along with becoming a parent. Maybe parenting has taught me as much as I hope I’m teaching my children (I don’t doubt it). Accepting the imperfect way I care for my home and family, because I don’t have another choice, is par for the course. I don’t have ten arms and an unlimited energy supply… I CAN’T do it all. And I’m not a failure… I’m a really good mom.

Oops, I have to go. I forgot to pick my son up from after school choir…

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