Mum guilt.
It’s the most overused phrase I’ve encountered since becoming a mum. Apparently anything and everything you do should cause it. There are about 10 billion reasons to make a mum feel like total crap and be riddled with guilt.
Do you work? Feel guilty that you don’t spend enough time nurturing your kids, they will totally grow up struggling to make meaningful emotional bonds with their peers and you as a result of your neglect.
Do you stay at home with them? Well done, you conform slightly more to our societal ideal of the perfect mum but WAIT! Feel guilty if you’re not setting up stimulating, educational and fun activities for them on Tuff Trays every 20 mins, every single day. You’d better be taking them to baby groups too, they need that socialisation they are desperately missing from not going to nursery.
Have they only eaten bananas and yoghurt today because anything else induced a screaming fit? You’re failing. Can they walk yet? Are they saying at least 50 words? Oh look, you’ve failed again.
Did you actually SHOUT at them the other day? Bloody hell… you should seriously beat yourself up about that one for years mate, because that’s low. Reaaaally low.
You know you’re a fairly crap mum. You know this, because you’ve got that niggling feeling deep in your tummy that you could always be doing more. Spending less time on your phone. Staying calm. Reading up on that thing about child development. Enjoying every moment more, making the most of this magical time when they’re small.
I feel it too, but it’s slowly being replaced by anger. Why? Because I call total, utter BS.
I am becoming more and more sure that mum guilt is that horrible patriarchy at work again. It’s society making us feel like poo and we all accidentally perpetuate it.
Why do we think it is so normal and acceptable to be sobbing and horribly racked (and it is that bad for a lot of women) by guilt about our parenting choices? I hear it all the time, in Facebook groups, forums, amongst friends.
“The mum guilt is real.”
“I’m failing.”
“It’s eating me up”
“I never feel like I’m doing enough”
It’s hard and no one can keep up perfection for long because to be honest, if you did, you would be weird. And maybe a robot. To not acknowledge that parenthood is trying, sometimes relentless and upsetting amongst the magical cute moments is to lie to yourself and other people. This perpetuates the problem.
Me, I blame the Victorians. This bloody idea of the mother who is like mother Mary, eternally patient, kind, loving and serene… that image has a lot to answer for. I always picture the perfect mum to be someone smiling contentedly down at their kids, never flapping, never stressed.
This ideal causes resentment, guilt and shame. You look on Instagram, you look on social media, flick through magazines. All these ideas to keep your kids entertained. Lovely homemade no sugar cakes you could be baking for your kids. How does she manage it?! Why can’t I manage it?
Even when women are asking questions on social media because they’re worried they aren’t doing enough, they are at pains to justify their “awful” choices – like sticking cartoons on the TV but only because they are super ill and can barely walk. They wouldn’t usually let baby Dave watch CBeebies for more than the recommended 20 mins a day, honest.
And so it becomes almost competitive. Humble brags and the subtle shaming of others.
Or you sit there internalising it and feeling like crap because someone is upset about how terrible a mum they are, but you realise you are WAY lazier than them, so what does that make you?! Should you be crying too?
Or you can do the ugly thing and think she’s an idiot for trying so hard, which temporarily makes you feel better. None of it is nice, or positive.
ARGH!
Can we tell society to bugger off and stop? Can we start changing this perception?
Yes, kids are a big responsibility but there are very few mums out there who don’t really try (and that is usually for sad and complicated reasons and is rare).
The vast, vast majority of mums really TRY. We try to make them eat broccoli. We try to smile when they smush playdough into the carpet because it’s a sensory experience… or something. We try to use calm, loving voices and rock them when they’re screaming with colic.
I bet if you start congratulating yourself every time you tried, you’d have a much more positive view of your parenting.
So can we change our internal voice?
Can we stop trying to live up to a fake version of motherhood that is impossible to maintain?
Can we stop feeling like shit because we can’t be some sort of unrealistic version of ourselves?
It hurts us all.
I’m a good mum, my husband is a good dad. Our kid is happy. That is enough.
I care, I try. I am a good mum. Say it til you mean it.
Stretchmark Sista 