I have a little secret to share: I used to be a perfectionist. It’s not that I believe I’m flawless; rather, I have this intense desire to excel in every aspect of my life. I’m a people-pleaser and often worry too much about what others think of me. I want to ace every task I take on.
Back in the day, this was a breeze. I aced my classes, met my soulmate who whisked me off my feet, and snagged my dream teaching job fresh out of college. Our first cozy apartment was spotless, and I whipped up gourmet meals for my charming husband. We relished our gym memberships and enjoyed spontaneous late-night dinners out. It was a fairytale.
Then we had kids.
Now, let’s be clear: it’s not their fault. Each of my children has given me some of the most amazing moments of my life. The issue arises from the fact that striving for perfection is nearly impossible when you’re living with little ones. I tried to juggle it all—balancing friendships, being the ideal wife, and keeping every piece of laundry impeccably clean. I aimed for spotless floors, an empty sink, signed school forms, and squeaky-clean windows. But the harder I pushed for perfection, the more frustrated I became with the people around me who kept disrupting my “perfect” plan.
You know, those delightful little beings who scatter crumbs like confetti and manage to spill drinks at the most inconvenient moments. The ones who leave toys exactly where they last played and dash off to new adventures. The ones who pile dirty dishes everywhere except the dishwasher. And let’s not forget my husband, who creatively placed his laundry on top of the hamper instead of in it.
And then there were the days filled with whining instead of polite requests, and the moments when my kids chose unkind words. They seemed to demand more of me than I had to give, and it felt like they didn’t appreciate the effort I put into everything. I was exhausted and perpetually grumpy.
But it wasn’t just the chaos of my home that wore me down. I had high hopes for my kids’ academic achievements, and any less-than-stellar feedback from teachers hit me hard. This wasn’t about comparing myself to other moms; it was a battle within. Am I doing enough? Am I a good mom? Is my husband satisfied with me? Is my home tidy enough? Are my children thriving?
Fortunately, I began to recognize my unhealthy obsession before I caused lasting damage to my kids (well, at least in this regard. I’m sure there are countless other ways my husband and I might be psychologically scarring them—like not letting them have the latest gadgets or forcing them to share a room. The horror!).
I’ve always linked my self-worth to my performance. As a teacher, I received validation through evaluations. I had tangible proof that I was doing a good job. But as a mom? There’s no grading system. No report cards to assure you that you’re on the right track—especially on those days when everything seems to go wrong. You know, the days when the kids are late because you can’t find a shoe, or when you discover toddler “art” on a freshly painted wall. The evenings when dinner is delayed or consists of hot dogs for the third time in a week because you just can’t muster the energy. The occasions when you snap at your child not because they deserve it, but because you’re running on empty. The moments when you stare at the mess and wonder if any other mom would handle it better than you.
Those days are far from perfect. The reality is, life is messy. And it’s even messier when kids are involved. It took me far too long to realize that perfection doesn’t exist. Trying to achieve it, especially with kids around, is like shoveling the sidewalk while it’s still snowing—utterly futile.
I may be a bit slow on the uptake, but I’m learning. I sweep less and embrace more hugs. I scrub less and find joy in laughter. I’ve also roped the kids into helping, which has been a game changer. My focus has shifted from what other moms think to prioritizing my kids’ perspectives. I guide them with love and encouragement, allowing them to grow into who they are meant to be rather than who I imagine they should be. Because in the end, my kids won’t remember how spotless our floors were, but they will cherish the love and warmth I gave them.
Summary:
The pursuit of perfection in motherhood is not only unrealistic but also detrimental to both mothers and their children. Embracing the chaos of family life and focusing on love and connection rather than cleanliness and performance can transform the parenting experience into something beautiful and fulfilling.