I Once Held Myself to the Standards of a 1950s Housewife (Then I Had a Revelation)

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I have a slight obsession with mid-century modern aesthetics and the charm of 1950s style. There’s something utterly delightful about the A-line dresses and pearls that makes my heart flutter. I often find myself dreaming of wearing a lovely skirt paired with a chic hat and handbag, all while lounging on a retro couch in heels.

However, what I didn’t anticipate was that this ideal of embodying a 1950s housewife would seep into my parenting philosophy. Honestly, it started to take a toll on my life.

Growing up, I didn’t have the classic 1950s home. As a child of the ’80s, I was more familiar with shows like Roseanne and The Cosby Show, where women balanced careers with family duties. So, I’m baffled by the notion that dinner had to be served when my partner returned home, and that I needed to maintain a smile plastered on my face, regardless of how my day had gone. I felt like I should be thankful for being a stay-at-home mom, which meant I couldn’t show any signs of being overwhelmed or stressed out.

I realize now that this mindset was completely misguided. Here we are in 2017, and I’m still battling this stereotype that quietly crept into my consciousness. But I’ve come to understand that trying to fulfill these unrealistic expectations is both exhausting and inauthentic.

Did women of that era truly do it all alone? The answer is a resounding no. My parents worked throughout my upbringing, and despite being a middle-class family in a small Texas town, I somehow thought I could do better. Yet, my definition of “better” morphed into that of a 1950s-style homemaker.

I recall telling my husband, Eric, when we were newlyweds and both juggling full-time jobs, that my dream was to be a stay-at-home mom. I promised to have home-cooked meals ready every night, keep the house spotless, and ensure our kids were happy—if we could make it financially feasible. Insert maniacal laughter here.

Eleven years later, Eric remains the primary breadwinner, while I handle the household. That means I manage lunch packing, school deadlines, extracurricular activities, grocery shopping, yard work, laundry, and ensuring my kids don’t drive each other crazy. I cook nearly every evening, and we dine out maybe once a week. I even teach our kids basic chores and make sure we have toilet paper stocked.

Yet, about a year ago, I came to a startling realization. I was chasing an absurd ideal that dictated the house should be immaculate, and dinner should be warm and waiting when my husband returned home. This relentless pursuit was draining me.

Eric has never expected me to adhere to these standards. He doesn’t anticipate me wearing pearls while preparing a casserole, so why did I? My best guess is that somewhere in my childhood, I internalized the belief that the 1950s housewife epitomized the ideal mother. As a perfectionist, I aimed to reach that bar, despite never witnessing it in my own home or those of my friends.

I now recognize how toxic this belief was for me, especially since I already grapple with anxiety and depression when I feel inadequate. I often felt like a failure if I served chicken nuggets for dinner instead of a gourmet meal. Remember my promise for always having dinner ready?

It may sound absurd, but I suspect I’m not alone in striving for a flawless life.

But I’m finished with that mindset. No longer do I pursue that unattainable standard. It was making me miserable, and it affected my entire family negatively. One day, I woke up and realized I wanted to prioritize self-love over maintaining a façade of perfection. That was my pivotal moment.

In my household, there’s no scorekeeper. No one is counting the number of healthy meals I prepare versus how often I serve hot dogs. No one judges how frequently I wash the towels or if I miss a piano lesson. The only critic was me, so I had to ask myself—why was I doing this?

If you find yourself caught in this distorted view of life reminiscent of the 1950s, it’s time to break free. Perfection is a myth. No one has perfect kids, a flawless family, or the picture-perfect life. Forget about wearing pearls and having a pristine house when your partner comes home. Embrace the delightful chaos of being a modern woman juggling countless responsibilities. Celebrate how exceptional you are at managing everything, and let go of that outdated ideal. You’ll feel so much better when you embrace the imperfect reality of your life.

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Summary

The author reflects on her past obsession with the ideals of a 1950s housewife and how it negatively impacted her mental health and family life. After recognizing the unrealistic nature of these standards, she encourages others to embrace the chaos of modern motherhood and let go of perfectionism.