More and more, Mother’s Day seems to have become just that – a day of mothers making mothers feel seen. Heard. Understood. This year, especially. It’s just us, trying to give ourselves permission to celebrate the people we are. The people we became when kids came into our lives.
Yet, every day, I disappoint. And every day, I fail. Because somehow, I'm too much… or not enough. It seems I will never be enough. Because I'm "the worst in the world". Even worse than that mom. Cos I mess up too much, do too little, prioritise wrongly, and let someone – everyone – down. Again. Always. 💔
Bystanders sometimes say:
“Oh, she’s a natural mother!”
“Oh, she’s a natural mother!”
But that’s a lie.
No one’s a “natural mother.”
Is it natural to run on four hours of sleep a night for years and years on end?
Is it natural to remember other people’s shoe sizes, allergies and best friends?
Is it natural to give your favourite potato chip to someone else without blinking?
No. None of it comes naturally.
But we do it anyway.
Or at least we try. Every day.
We try through the doubt. We try through the mess. We try through the bone-deep fatigue. Even when we’re falling apart inside, we try. Even if we kill ourselves trying along the way.
We try to be calm when the chaos is deafening. We try to be patient even when we’re frayed and unravelling. We try to be patient when we’re running on fumes. We try to be present when all we want is to disappear.
We try to be good. We try to be kind. We try not to cry in front of the kids (too much). We try to be tough. We try to be enough. And still we go to bed wondering – knowing – that after all that's been done, it’s still not enough. It’s never enough.
It’s not the kids; it’s the expectations – the ones placed on us by others around us. The kind felt in every sigh, every raised eyebrow, every snide comment, every frown, and every moment we fall short of being everything to everyone.
The expectation to be it all, do it all, and never complain. To mother like we don’t have a job, and work like we don’t have children. To keep the house running, to hold it all together, to stay patient, soft, reliable – no matter how, no matter what, without thanks, and without falling apart.
Yet, every day, I disappoint. And every day, I fail. Because somehow, I'm too much… or not enough. It seems I will never be enough. Because I'm "the worst in the world". Even worse than that mom. Cos I mess up too much, do too little, prioritise wrongly, and let someone – everyone – down. Again. Always. 💔
So, Happy Mother’s Day to us – the moms who are still trying. Still becoming. Still hoping that one day, we will be enough. In the mean time, we see each other. We celebrate one other. And maybe… just maybe… that’s enough. ❤️🩹
