I'm Not That Great, And That's Okay

There is too much pressure on women. There. I said it. Like it was a surprise. Like you didn't already know.

Whether it's social media, or the blogosphere, or our self help books, or the other moms in the drop off lane at school, we all have an image we're trying to live up to, and we all know how we're failing, don't we?

Personally, I always wanted to be a mom. Ever since I was a little girl, I had an image of who I was or was going to be: a wife, mother, and caregiver. And I became that! I threw my whole self into that identity. I wanted to be the best mom who did everything right.

Of course it turned out my kids didn't fit into my perfect image. For example, one of my autistic kids was an escape artist. If I turned my back long enough to go to the bathroom, he could be out a window and halfway down the street. I knew it made me look inattentive. But I spent years trying to stay ahead of his escapes and was never 100% successful.

Then I struggled between helicoptering and free ranging. You know people have opinions about it either way. If I gave my kids a little freedom to go outside, and they got into trouble (like kids do) that was my fault. If I never gave them freedom, that was my fault. If I spent time with them outside and couldn't get housework done, that was also my fault.

I struggled...not with whether or not I was doing a good job. I mean, I wanted to be good at everything I wanted to be, but I also accepted that the best I could do was my best.

Let me say that once more for the people in the back: THE BEST YOU CAN DO IS YOUR BEST. Not someone else's best. Maybe not what your best was last week, or next week, or tomorrow. Your best is your best right now.

I'll be honest, sometimes my best isn't that great. I lean toward procrastination (something I actively fight against with varying levels of success). Sometimes I pass up time that I could be really engaging with my kids because I'd like to watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy (yeah, I still watch that show). Sometimes I forget to go through backpacks, or sign permission slips, or whatever the thing is that needs to be done today.

The truth is, I'm not that great. I'm not super special. I'm not a perfect mom. And that's okay. Because I've come undone and put myself back together. Because I've spent nights at the bedside of a child who couldn't tell me what was wrong, and couldn't be left alone. Because I make space for a handful of younger humans to have feelings and learn and know that they are loved. And because I keep trying to do better.

I'm not that great. But I'm doing my best. And I keep going.