No Mom Guilt

I just decided two things: 1. I am not going to fold that pile of laundry over there even though it is glaring at me, and 2. I am banning the phrases “mom guilt” and “mom fail” from my life. Both the laundry and the words have been oppressing me, and I am not interested in being oppressed by anything, especially an inanimate pile of clothes and an inanimate pile of letters. 

When I was a teacher, I did not suffer under “teacher guilt” or say something was a “teacher fail.” When I was a student, I did not have “student guilt” or say something was a “student fail.” I have never said the phrases “wife guilt” or called something a “wife fail,” and I don’t think I’ve ever heard my husband say “dad guilt” or “dad fail.” Maybe it’s just an issue of semantics (although the words we use matter, don’t they?), or maybe it’s something a lot deeper. Maybe the mom role is uniquely guilt-laden.

I get why—these kids we are raising? They are a BIG DEAL, and we really want to be good at raising them. We’ll be devastated if we’re not. But in any other role I’ve had in my life, I’ve been aware of my own humanity—my inability to do everything perfectly. I typically have forgiven myself for my imperfections, acknowledged that despite my best efforts, a 100/A is not always in the cards. Sometimes it takes a lot of work to get over it (perfectionism runs deep), but eventually I get there.

But the mom thing is a different animal altogether. I think somewhere along the line I believed the lie that when I became a mom, I traded in my humanity. I think I believed that I can outrun my sinfulness, selfishness, and limitations of time, energy, and knowledge. I believed that if I tried hard enough, we could avoid all pain and error. I believed that with enough effort, I could forever shield my children from germs, injury, poor self-esteem, danger, and unhappiness. That maybe with enough willpower, I would develop those mythical “eyes in the back of the head” that teachers and moms allegedly have, so that I could actually keep my eyes on both screaming, running toddlers at the same time, all the time, but that didn’t work because while I was playing with one kid, the other one ate some dog food.

See, I want to take my kids to play outside because I feel guilty that they’ve been inside too much, but then I worry they’ll burn in the oppressive southern sun so I start to lather them up with sunscreen and then I remember an article on Facebook about the toxicity of sunscreen ingredients so I consider a rash guard but then worry they’ll overheat because of that other scary article I read—AND YOU KNOW WHAT, LET’S JUST ALL STAY INSIDE.

I want to take my kids to the zoo because I want us to have fun together but I don’t want them to feel cooped up in the stroller so I let them walk but then they get away so much faster than I bargain for and they don’t listen to me because I don’t have time to read parenting books so I want to buy one of those sneaky backpack leashes so that they are safe while we work on the listening and discipline thing but then I can’t buy a leash because of shame and plus it’s so hot at the zoo and then I might fall into the sunscreen debacle again—AND YOU KNOW WHAT, LET’S JUST STAY HOME.

And of course, those are just the silly examples. It’s easy to joke about and extend grace for these kinds of things. But for every silly example, there are five serious ones that keep us awake at night, and they grow and evolve as our kids do.

My mom friends are some of my greatest treasures in life, and when they tell me the stuff they feel guilty about, I say, “Hey! Be nice to my friend! She’s just a person, and she’s doing awesome.” Then I have to remember that I’m cruel to myself, too, and I’m wondering how I let myself become such a self-bully.

So this is my message to me, to you, to your mom friends, no matter the age of our kids: SHUT UP. You are a person, and as such, you will inevitably mess up. You’ll make the wrong call on something. This is fine. This reminds us that we are not God, we are not capable of perfection, we are not all-knowing. You’ll pick the wrong sunscreen, your kid will completely fall apart in public and you’ll mishandle it, you’ll not be able to reach them before they fall off the couch, you’ll hurt their feelings, you’ll need a break. You’ll forget a class party, you’ll be late to a doctor’s appointment, you’ll give them the wrong advice. You'll expect too much, you'll expect too little.

These are not invitations to guilt but invitations to humility: God is God, and you are not. That is good news. You can’t handle every detail of everything. You were never meant to do that.

Can we just agree to leverage our imperfections as a reminder to depend on the only perfect parent, God Himself? Can our flaws send us running for refuge and reprieve in the arms of a Perfect God? Can we stop leaning on our own shaky wisdom (and the inevitable guilt when it falls), and instead lean on His?

He called you to mother your children, and you’re the best gal for the job, totally human, totally imperfect, totally loved, just as you are. No more mom guilt—just mom humility. Mom-ility? Hu-mom-ility? Eh, it’s not catchy, but maybe it’ll catch on.

Be free, sister.

“Only in the Lord, it shall be said of me, are righteousness and strength.” Isaiah 45:24

“Ah, Lord God! It is you who have made the heavens and the earth by your great power and by your outstretched arm! Nothing is too hard for you.” Jeremiah 32:17

“For I will satisfy the weary soul, and every languishing soul I will replenish.” Jeremiah 31:25

"The Lord directs the steps of the godly. He delights in every detail of their lives." Psalm 37:23, NLT