The "bad mommy" syndrome

Have you ever felt judged as a parent?

I’m convinced that the new generation of moms is the single most “judged” generation of moms, and the most anxious because of it.  Others judge us; we judge each other, but most of all we judge ourselves.

Call it the “bad mommy” syndrome, the constant fear that we as moms are doing it wrong, that our every choice is the wrong choice.  We worry that we’re scarring our kids for life somehow, or perhaps depriving them of something that will help them succeed later in life.  I fret and I sweat, and I constantly call my goodness as a mom into question. And I know I’m not alone.  I want to be the perfect mom, but how?

The problem is that not only are the standards for “perfect parent” impossibly high, but nobody seems to be able to agree on what they are.  Parenting wasn’t even a topic until Dr. Spock published his book Baby and Childcare in the 1940s (and by the way, I feel like a bad mom for not having read his book).

I was made to wonder about this when a teacher at my daughter’s preschool took me aside and lectured me about “modeling at home” (how we set examples and act as role models for our kids by what we say and do).  I got a “talking-to” because after I dropped my daughter off, the teacher saw that my daughter’s jacket had the remnants of some stickers on it.  When she asked my daughter what had happened to her jacket, my daughter said, “I ruined it.”  The teacher immediately assumed that someone at home had accused her of ruining something, and that my daughter had internalized it, thereby crushing her self-esteem and self-worth, and thus indicating poor parenting.

It never occurred to this teacher that my daughter might have picked the saying up from another child at the preschool, or that my daughter might have taken “ruin” out of context and applied it to herself.  Admittedly, I can’t claim that I never used the word at home.  Maybe I let it slip a while back when I walked into my daughter’s bedroom, and she had colored one wall and her brand new toy box solidly green while I was in the bathroom.  My daughter probably overheard us bemoaning the fact that our two cats ruined our new sofa (it’s now nothing more than a huge, comfortable scratching post).  And just yesterday I caught myself saying, “She ruined her appetite with those cheese crackers.”  Whoops!  It’s probably not a great word for her to pick up. Young children are very sensitive.  On the other hand, for days I’ve been stressing over the words I use around my daughter.  I don’t curse like a sailor.  I’m not dropping f-bombs.  I consider myself to be a thoughtful and sensitive parent, but clearly not everybody thinks so.

I’ve been judged.

I’ve been judged for breastfeeding too long.  And not long enough.

I’ve been judged for enrolling my daughter in a preschool.  If I were really a good mom, wouldn’t I keep my daughter with me 24/7 for as long as possible? I’ve been judged for not going back to work full-time because my daughter doesn’t have a “proper” sense of autonomy.  In short, I’m judged for working, for not working, and everything in between.

I’ve felt judged for hiring a mommy’s helper to help out with household chores.  It’s frowned upon for any mom to admit that she needs help.  After all, you’re the mom.  You should be able to handle it.

I’ve been judged for letting my daughter watch TV. (But it’s Elmo, people!  It’s not like we’re chillin’ to Jersey Shore!)

I’ve been judged for letting my daughter eat Cheerios.  Yes, Cheerios, because they are too processed.

This is just the tip of the big, messy, opposing-parenting-philosophies, heaping-guilt-on-each-other iceberg.  No wonder my head is spinning.

I find myself agonizing over parenting choices, mistakes, and lapses of judgement.  The guilt others might heap on me is nothing compared to the constant guilt-fest going on in my brain.  Yup, it’s a party in there--just me and the mommy guilt.

It’s the little stuff: I feel bad when I’m the only mom who didn’t bring a fresh kale salad and fresh-cut papaya, while I’m whipping out the crackers and (fake) fruit roll-ups.  And then there’s the big stuff: I waited too long to have kids, and then I only had one.

I’m going to either have myself committed or be the best mom I can be based on my personal believe system.  I’m going to provide a safe and loving home for my child.  I’m also going to make time for myself: parenting is my most important journey in life, but isn’t my only journey as a human being.  I’m going to enjoy and savor this parenting adventure in spite of the stumbles.  I’m going to lighten up on myself, or at least I’m going to try.  I’m going to admit that I need a hug.

My life is my party, and mommy guilt, you’re not invited because I’m “un-friending” you.  I’m not a saint -- I’m just a mom.  And I love it.