“I’m a good mom, like a really good mom.” I wrote those words the other day and I felt a heaviness I didn’t know was there lift off my shoulders. The words look foreign on the page. Can I say that? I wondered. Am I an imposter if I say that?
I just snapped at my son for getting slime on the couch. That doesn’t seem very goodmomish.
Then I read the words again and I owned them: I AM a good mom, like a REALLY GOOD mom. The same feeling came. RELIEF, FREEDOM, tears rose in my throat and threatened to come out.
I’m a good mom even when I snap at my son and his slime fingers.
Who even told me that I was a bad mom? I wondered.
Me. I did. My heart answered back.
I guess I didn’t realize how much pressure I was still carrying. I didn’t know it would feel so wonderfully freeing to write those words. I didn’t know my soul desperately needed to hear them. I didn’t know how foreign, but TRUE they would feel.
No other person will ever be able to fully convince me I’m a good mom. They will encourage me, but then I will think…yeah but you don’t know everything about me. You don’t know that I let my four-year-old wear her clothes to bed because I can’t take one more battle. You don’t know my house is usually dirty. You don’t know that sometimes I want to run away from my own family and just be alone for one single second.
There is only one person who can convince me I’m a good mom. She’s the person that accused me in the first place. She’s the one who see’s me when I’m present, and sees me when I’m using Netflix as a free babysitter.
She is me. She knows me with all my gifts and all the things I see as flaws.
She sees me with all my selfishness.
She sees me with all my self-doubt.
She sees me when I do the hard thing, and when I take the short cuts.
I am the only one who can decide to believe the words: I am a good mom.
The fact is: I AM one.
Yes, there is always more I “could” be doing, but my kids don’t see it that way. They wouldn’t trade me in for Mary Poppins or Daniel Tiger’s Mom. They adore me in all my mess and all my glory. They don’t care if I wear dirty yoga pants or if I eat a thousand calorie dessert. They just don’t care. They don’t feel let down when I let the Netflix play on; they think I’m awesome when I do that.
I am a good mom, like a really good mom.
You are too.
Not because you’re getting it all right, not because you never royally screw up…
Maybe it’s actually because you get it wrong sometimes, and you DO royally screw up…
But you keep showing up ANYWAY. You keep loving them and feeding them. You keep doing your best. You keep making sure they’re drinking enough water and they’re getting medicine when they need it. You keep going out of our way to make sure they know THEY ARE LOVED.
I am positive that there are a lot of things that we think matter…that actually don’t.
Let’s tell the voices in our heads to get on board, WE ARE GOOD MOMS.
I would even venture to say, my friend, that we are GREAT.
Tell yourself those words today and see what happens…
Cheers to screen time and wine before five.
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