Why I'm Giving up on Being the Perfect Mother

I don’t usually involve myself in posts that could be controversial. First, I really struggle with the comparison game, myself, and elevating one philosophy of mothering over another can easily turn into harsh slung words over who is right or what ideas carry the greatest weight. Secondly, ain’t no busy momma got time for that!

But this topic is near and dear to my heart and is one I have long struggled and labored over. Yet, in writing this, please don’t feel I’m pushing an agenda or saying this way of thinking is best for everyone. I just want to share my heart on one topic I’ve wrangled with and seen the effects play out in my sons.

The perfect mother. It’s something we all have strained toward. We research what it looks like, what it feels like, what it sounds like – we seek the ethereal example of motherhood perfected. If it requires a new gadget, we invest in it. A change of thought, we conform. A habit, an effort, a fruit of the Spirit, we model our life after actions that may lead us to a closer ideal.

I’ve read blogs – leave the house dirty, hug your little ones, the time passes quickly – be slow, be intentional, stop saying no, order is the way, schedule, free play, make lists, organize, relax, take you time, discipline, give grace. And each time I walk away feeling a little more of a failure in my motherhood – like somehow I don’t measure up. So I set the bar higher, leaning and stretching to attain some form of perfection in my parenting. And I’ve grown weary. Weary of trying and failing. Weary of what forever seems impossible, but unable to break out of the relentless cycle of pursuing perfection.

Here’s the problem: I can’t do it. And I will never be able to do it.

Now if I said that’s the reason I’m giving up, this blog post would be over, but there’s more to it than that. My struggle toward perfection is strangling my motherhood. Here’s what I’ve discovered:

First, when my focus and my goal is that of my own idea of perfection and I fail, who am I failing? Namely, myself, my own ideas and desires. And if I’m failing myself, what is my response? Well, guess I better try harder next time. And you know what I miss? I miss how my failure in that moment may be affecting one of my sons. When my eyes are fixed on my own goals and motives, I miss the dynamic bigger picture of how my impatience or my harsh words may be breaking my boy’s heart. I don’t sense the need to apologize for anything because the offense was against my own goal – not against anyone else.

Second, when I set perfection as the standard for myself, I am inadvertently setting the standard at perfection for my sons. If I am not allowed to fail, then neither are they. What is this teaching them about grace but that there’s no need for it? If failure is not an option (and Lord knows how often we mess up), then am I communicating that they will never be enough? Never measure up? When I don’t give myself room to fail, my sons don’t see my need for grace. When I communicate that perfection is the standard, I don’t give them room for grace either!

Finally, when I strive in my own strength toward perfection, I am turning my motherhood into a vessel that is to be set on a shelf and adored rather than a usable vessel to nurture my family. I communicate “don’t touch,” “do not disturb,” “Hands off.” This is my pretty vessel – it doesn’t need finger smudges and boogers to flaw its surface. But this is not what I am called to as a mother. The direct commission I have been given is to bring forth life and to bear fruit (both in a physical and spiritual realm). And who is the life giver? God! Who is the vine that I must abide in? His son, Jesus. Who develops the fruit in my life? The Spirit. And I so desperately want my sons to know this. This, right here – the power of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwelling in me!

So, no, I cannot do it. Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. I say that all the time – and that’s why God must be the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

So where does that leave me? I am going to mess up. I will have moments where my anger gets out of hand, where the house is not perfect (or maybe for the moment it is, but I have missed an opportunity to invest in one of the little ones), I get impatient, I speak harshly, I don’t give grace, or I mess up in many other ways that I know I will. And I want my sons to know that’s okay.

When I wound them, I want them to see me admitting it, asking for forgiveness, seeking their grace – so that they can go and do likewise.

When I fail, I want them to see that it’s okay. Perfection is not something we can attain. I want them to see me receiving grace in my time of need so that they also can receive grace in their time of need.

When I walk this road of life with my sons, I want to be tangible, real. I don’t want to be hands off. I want them to see my desperate need of Christ. I want to be usable. And the only way that will happen is to let Christ live through me. I don’t want to be an empty vessel on a shelf – I want to be filled and spilled. And that means being willing to get dirty (sometimes in physical ways too!).

So I’m giving up on the idea of perfection in my mothering. I’m giving up to the one who can live His life through me. Christ, the image of perfection – that who I want my sons to see!

Pin It

The Lie and the Truth of the Failing Mom

“Failure!” I heard it scream in my heart. “Failure!” You’re leaving your kids with unmet needs. You’re incapable of getting your baby to stay asleep. You’re pushing your oldest through his schoolwork. You’re doing too much housework. You’re not working out enough. “Failure!” I heard threatening my identity when I didn’t hear the phone the 5^th time my husband called, and I didn’t hear the doorbell the three times he rang it. “Failure!” It’s all my fault he’s late for work.

Each day, one moment is melting into another as I get lost in the swirl and chaos of four little boys age 5 and under. The oldest needs help with school. The youngest needs his most basic biological needs met (which for anyone who has never had experience with an infant, it takes a lot of time to do so!!!). The two in the middle – well, where do they fit in? I try to find things for them to play with, watch, of do (shoot, I’m probably letting them watch too many movies right now – failure!) while I help the oldest and the youngest. And somewhere in here, someone has to make meals, feed kids, wipe bums, change diapers, clean dishes, clean clothes, bathe bodies and wipe snotty noses. (Forget mamma getting a shower – who has time for that?)

Try to get up early? Yep, tried – but when you get 3-4 hours of sleep because said littlest has needs overnight, you don’t even hear your alarm go off in the morning. Tried getting naps too, but my brain won’t slow down long enough to let me relax.

So this is where I’ve found myself this afternoon – on my couch with my computer, coffee, and a cookie (mamma’s got to get some endorphins from somewhere) willing that my youngest does not awake from his afternoon nap too early.

I’ve had experience with these emotions before. They are nothing new. I’ve heard that word – failure – it’s all too familiar.

I’ve come to see this for what it is – a lie.
And I’ve come to see this for what it is – the truth.

The Lie

Let me explain. The truth of the matter is that my kids are alive. They are well fed. They are hearing the word of God on a regular basis. They are getting hugs and kisses, and for the most part, plenty of sleep. The oldest is learning to read and do his addition. My house is not a pig sty. Most days we have clean clothes to wear – and I get a shower at least once a week! All of this signifies that I’m not “failing” on a routine basis.

That’s why this is a lie! there’s only one who wants me to feel a failure in this way (my enemy). Why? Because he wants me to give up. He doesn’t like the potential of what it could look like for parents to raise four boys for the glory of their Creator. That scares him. So if he can just get me to get discouraged and think it’s not worth it or that I cannot do it, I may just give up and decrease the potential of the amazing impact my boys could have on the world around them. (Do not lose heart in doing good – for in due time, you will receive a reward if you do not give up!)

The Truth

The truth of the matter is that this word. This “failure” is in fact very true. I have yet to meet a woman who can do it all – the perfect house, the perfect kids (especially when there is more than one), the perfect decisions to please everyone around her, the perfect body, etc. And I am no exception to the rule. 

That's why this is the truth! There’s only One who wants me to feel a failure in this way (my Savior). Why? Because until I can admit my inadequacies, I cannot accept His all sufficiency. Because until I can admit my weakness, I cannot grasp His Strength. Because until I can confess my foolishness, I cannot understand His wisdom. (For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength).

It’s only when I realize my failings that I can begin to trust God’s sovereignty. It’s only when I come to Him with empty hands that He can fill them. His grace is sufficient. His strength is made perfect in my weakness – so it is, when I am weak, I am strong.

I, myself, am a failure. I cannot do it. But Christ in me is more than enough – and when I live out of that truth, I see that He will do exceedingly more than I could ask or think. For my God is enough. His presence in me is enough. And he makes my failures into more than enough to be used for His glory!

Edit March 2020: 

The original post was created five years ago. In all honesty, it hasn't gotten easier - just different. We've added two boys, moved to a smaller house, weathered a mental health crisis, and now we sit in self-quarantine during the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. Life is hard, and perhaps it always will be. But through it all, I have discovered that my pursuit of truth and the glory of God is crucial in maintaining proper perspective. 

None of us are enough for this job of mothering (and many who have just been thrust into full time stay-at-home-home-school-mom status due to this crisis may feel beyond overwhelmed!) I see you. I care! If you can find even a moment today (put on a virtual field trip for the kids or send them to the backyard to run around) to breathe, take it. Find a spot of beauty (a house plant, a warm shower, a photo album, some music). Take a minute to just be. Realize that Christ is here - even in the midst of this chaos. He is still in control. His strength is still enough. 

He's got this, Mamma! He's got you! And you've got this in His strength! Take your next step with Him today, and trust Him for the one after that. Grace and Peace!

The Birthing of a Man

Wet, warm, slimy babe in your arms, new from the world of wombs. Only God could have planned this moment. Skin to skin, breathing in new life, new joy, hopes and dreams for both today and tomorrow. Pull the wobbly, too heavy, head up for a kiss and feel the warmth of new blood rushing, oxygenated now by something other than you. Your role is a little less crucial than it was yesterday. But you don’t feel that right now, you just bask in the new mommy, joy moment. And do, for it passes too quickly. All of life is letting go. 

 The way he ripped through your body, the burning pain with the tightenings and the forceful entry into the world – that’s the way he’ll rip through your life as he strives to be birthed into a man. Many painful contractions of love, breathe, readjust, try to cope in the moment – if you look at the whole, it’s overwhelming. Then a break, a breather, a moment of reprieve, and you still feel the tiny pushes from within. 

The transition hits and you don’t know where to go. You try to catch your breath, but it seems elusive. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.” And that’s what it feels like, the ends of the world caving in and pulling you apart at the same moment. You’ve been stretched, stretched to where your body can handle, but it’s still try to stretch a little more. Tears, groans, and gasps. They all come. Did you picture it this way? Did you know the pain of birthing a man?

Pushing brings a little relief, but adds with it a stinging sensation you may have never known. At least you and your body are working together now. In a moment you want to hold back, hold back from the burning, but holding back hurts all the worse and you give in to the urges of your body. God knows best. For if a child remained inside forever, he would never be a man, and he would wind up eating you alive. The ring of fire, appropriately named, as your skin stretches and sometimes breaks open at the sheer force of his head, and in one gigantic effort, it emerges. A moment, or maybe two, and you bear down again unable to hold back any more. He twists and turns and struggles his shoulders out, and in one swift motion, he slides into the waiting hands. He’s born.

That first breath brings air to parts of his lungs that have never experienced air before. He wiggles and screeches. No longer safe in the darkness of your womb, but now exposed to the light. Breathing now depends on him. Life, depends on him; his body has been preparing for this moment. Your body has been preparing for this moment. They clamp the cord – his former life source – and within ten days, the evidence of such will also fall away. 

But now that he’s here, you don’t remember the birth pangs, they are the former thing and are no more for you are overwhelmed at the joy of who is here now. 

For when your son becomes a man, it is then that you truly become a momma!

Hannah Norton 2014

 

Pin It