The Day I Became My Kids' Real Mom
I spent more than six years as a mother before I realised I'd never actually been 100% myself.
From the second they placed my first newborn in my arms, I felt like I'd been handed the lead role in a play where everyone knew their lines except me. So I did what seemed logical: I studied everyone else's performance.
At the playground, I would watch my friend chase our kids around, laughing and tumbling in the grass. She looked like joy personified, like those moms in diaper commercials. I would force myself up from the bench, trying to match her energy, but inside I was screaming: Why doesn't this bring me joy? Why am I not that kind of fun? What's broken in me that I'd rather sit here and watch them play?
Another friend brought homemade food everywhere; tasty and creative lunches, healthy snacks for everyone. I had a sandwich and an apple for my kid. Basic. I was feeling the shame creep up my neck. Not creative enough. Not caring enough. Not enough, period.
Daycare and school drop-offs had their own special torture. Other moms looked put together. Nice clothes, makeup, hair done. Their kids too! Matching outfits, perfect braids. Me? Messy bun. My daughters hair was not even brushed because we'd run out of time, or more likely, they’d fought me on it and I'd surrendered. Where was I failing? What life skills was I missing?
Some moms were strict about no screens. Others had educational apps for everything. No sugar versus "kids should be kids." Wooden toys only or a house full of plastic. Montessori activities or carefully curated activities. Minimalist childhoods to "spark imagination" or rooms full of toys because "they're only young once."
I was drowning in all these philosophies, trying to pick the "right" one. No, not even picking. Just borrowing whatever the mother next to me was doing, assuming she knew better.
All these years, I collected these “failures” like stones in my pocket, each comparison adding weight to the belief that I was fundamentally doing motherhood wrong.
But, the change came slowly. There was no dramatic moment where I threw my hands up and declared independence from the tyranny of comparison. Instead, I started getting tired. Really tired. Not physically, but mentally exhausted from performing motherhood instead of living it. I was following rules written by everyone except me.
One day I realised: I've been trying so hard to be like other mothers that I don't even know what kind of mother I actually am. What are MY values? What do I believe is important for MY kids?
The truth?
I don't like running around with my girls for more than 1 minute. I prefer watching them play, being their safe base when they need me
Simple food made with love is enough
My messy bun means that I had breakfast with my girls, taking our time to talk and start the day together, instead of fighting about appearances
Some screen time won't destroy them
A mix of toys is fine: some plastic, some wood, some electronic whatever makes them happy
Sugar from time to time isn't the end of the world
These are MY choices. Finally.
Am I completely over comparing myself? No. I still catch myself mid-performance sometimes, trying on someone else's parenting style like a coat that doesn't fit. Or worse, my kids catch me. They can feel when I'm not being myself, when I'm forcing something that isn't me. "Mom, why are you acting weird?" they ask. They know.
Kids are smart. They feel the difference between their real mother and the one who's performing.
So here's my invitation to you: Look at how you parent and how you feel as a mother. Is it really you? Or is it a mix of what you think you should do, borrowed from other mothers, from social media, from parenting books?
Are you making choices based on YOUR values or because you saw another mom do it and thought "she probably knows better than me"?
Finding your own way is hard. And yes, you'll make mistakes. You'll doubt yourself. Some days you'll feel like you're failing. But at least they'll be YOUR mistakes, based on YOUR decisions.
Your kids don't need you to be like that perfect-looking mom at school. They don't need the mom with homemade everything or the one with the perfect educational activities.
They need YOU. The real you. Even if you're uncertain, even if your hair is messy, even if you give them screen time and non-organic snacks sometimes.
Trust yourself. You know your kids better than anyone. You know what they need. Stop borrowing other mothers' lives and start living your own.
It's scary but also... freeing.
Much love,
Anca