Liberating our Daughters: Unlearning Our Own Perfectionism by Untaming Ourselves in Motherhood
The word capacity has come to me time and time again in the throes of parenting. Namely, the growing awareness around how low capacity I feel, sometimes chronically. Capacity – I think you know what I’m talking about…that smorgasbord of patience, energy, the ability to regulate oneself, internal calm and groundedness, and mental wherewithal. Some might call it reserves in the tank. It’s my metaphoric cup that everyone seems to reference, or what I’m bringing to tackle (or just survive) the day. As a parent of girls who are two and three and a half, I am still very “in the trenches” of early parenthood and capacity is the name of the game.
As my capacity and the needs of our day fluctuate, I can feel the need to recalibrate. For example, do we need to abandon the preschool project (optional, mind you) because I’m frustrated and my daughter is disinterested in completing it? Maybe we all need a movie mid-day because my kids are sick and cranky. This realization washes over me as I feel the twinge of internal resistance. I struggle to shift my expectations in order for our family ecosystem to run more smoothly and for me to be able to parent in congruence with my values. Sometimes I dig my heels in and push us through even though I know I’m leading us down the harder path. Think square peg, round hole. The result of this resistance? White knuckling through tantrums with my girls. Knowingly engaging in a power struggle with my preschooler about her outfit. Consuming coffee as if it were hooked up to me through an IV. Or snapping at my toddlers when flour is being thrown like Elsa’s magic snow when baking: an experience I hoped would be “fun,” which is turning out to be anything but.
Early parenthood is chaotic and beautiful by nature, and yet I find myself going to exhausting lengths to cultivate the most magical, connected, loving, engaging, playful - the adjectives could go on - childhood for my daughters. I often find myself spiraling about how to create an idyllic childhood championed by a mom who’s made homemade organic Goldfish after meditating for thirty minutes, and with this mindset, perceive my humanity as inadequacy. “Work harder, do better” says a little voice in my head. I recognize this comes with privilege. Moms working two or three jobs to make ends meet cannot even begin to consider these ideas more or less enact them. Yet, I need to validate my struggle, and also recognize the extraordinary privilege that I have to even participate in this “mom-ing rat race.” My kids are loved, healthy, safe, and our family has financial security. Crazy, how that isn’t enough to many of us who carry this privilege.
The Myth Of The Perfect Mother: How The Institution Of Motherhood Keeps Us Small
While the word capacity keeps coming to mind in these moments of tension, the truth is that at essence, it involves bouts of incongruent parenting. It’s my own inability to actively challenge the unrealistic pressures of motherhood by holding them up to my own values, needs, and desires for myself and my parenting. The more I think about it, I can see that this resistance comes from one place, and one place only: shame. That little pestering, belittling voice in my head that rears its ugly head often in parenthood. It’s the voice that I have to keep a careful eye on, or it can follow me through my days like a shadow. Since having my older daughter, my roots of the good girl archetype have covertly evolved into the shackles of the perfect mother.
The invisible yet constant societal pressures of motherhood were something I was astoundingly unprepared for. This pressure feels like the endless fog in a horror movie that surrounds us all, and in an instant can completely consume someone to their peril. With my good girl wiring dashed with the thirst for external validation, I entered motherhood ready to tirelessly work trying to be the so-called perfect mom. Stick to a rigid pumping regiment so my baby can drink exclusively breast milk? Done! (While also never sleeping between night feeds and pump sessions. I think my eye has started to twitch regularly). Preschool class needs three dozen brownies for the party tomorrow? Absolutely, and any dietary restrictions? (Bedtime ran late and then I made the three varieties of brownies before the baby woke up a few hours later. I resentfully dropped off the brownies, cursed about the class party under my breath, and did I even hug my daughter goodbye?). I know this is the story of many women, too. The examples are endless, and they are filled with anguish and feeling like we’re never enough.
How do so many of us fall into this trap of striving to be the perfect mother? We package this pursuit as healthy striving, love, or values, when in reality it’s an adaptive strategy riddled with scarcity, fear, and shame. It’s seductive because it’s safe. It’s the water we all swim in, invisible to the eye yet a crushing weight of patriarchal expectation. In the minefield of insecurities within parenthood, we wonder if we’re doing it “right” at every turn while simultaneously holding the painful truth that we’re probably not. Let’s not forget the comparison and not-enoughness we feel every time we open a social media app and see another mom “doing it better.” It shoves comparison in our face, and the pain of unworthiness is felt with every second scrolling.
A bandaid to this pain is perfectionism - we are driven by our avoidance of pain and vulnerability as we navigate the incredibly vulnerable role of “mother.” One of my favorite Brene Brown quotes reads, “When perfectionism is the driver, shame is always riding shotgun, and fear is the annoying backseat driver…it’s a way of thinking that says this: if I look perfect, live perfect, work perfect I can avoid or minimize criticism, blame, or ridicule.” (Winfrey, 2013)
This perfectionism, shame, and fear has certainly clashed with my feminist rebel heart, ready to resist the patriarchy’s oppression. The hamster wheel of perfectionist parenting keeps us compliant in the patriarchal systems that thrive on the invisible labor of women – hustling for worthiness and validation to mitigate the shame. As I’m actively trying to raise burn-the-patriarchy-down daughters, I find myself constantly working to break through my roadblocks to liberation by challenging this endless pursuit of being the fictitious perfect mother. When left unchecked, perfectionism has been a huge barrier to living and parenting within my values. This prevents me from recognizing my kids’ magic, cultivating meaningful connection, and I find myself parenting with more resentment rather than the ease, peace, and joy I crave.
This Women’s History Month, I feel inspired to rise and revolt, to pay homage to the great women and mothers that came before me and to empower the toddler girls in my house who will grow up to be great women themselves. Recovering perfectionists and good girls unite! We can break this cycle by untaming ourselves and raising kids who were never tamed in the first place. When we model this perfectionism, our daughters, by osmosis, will grow up adhering to the same cultural expectations of oppression. Let’s break our shackles so that they may never wear the same ones. This is, ultimately, the most loving thing I can do for myself and for my daughters, and models the skills for them to develop their own critical awareness lens.
A Love Letter To My Girls: How to Break the Cycle and Untame Ourselves
To keep my perfectionism in parenthood at bay, to actively resist patriarchal expectations of women and mothers, I’ve found some journaling practices that help keep me grounded and parent in my values. These are new muscles I’m building and therefore, it feels like hard work. But I’m motivated to engage with the work to model them for my girls. I invite you to join me in this self-liberation, through journaling or personal reflection in the following practices:
Clarifying my values - When I’m clear and sturdy in my values, I can easily see what’s mine to take on and what simply isn’t. For example, I have this recurring thought that “Good moms take their kids camping,” while the truth is, I don’t know if I really like to camp with the bugs, eat powdered meals, and sleep on the hard ground in a tent. Pass! However, it really does feel like a parenting value for my family to spend time in nature. This has manifested into exploring local hiking trails or spending the day at the beach. You see how the lines can get muddled easily.
Journaling prompt: What really matters is…
2. Practicing self-compassion and embracing my humanity - I recently told my therapist that I was sometimes functioning with the mentality that I was the bionic woman. Functioning like this has, not so surprisingly, proven to be quite unsustainable. To combat the bionic woman mentality, I’ve been intentionally connecting with my own humanity - my feelings, needs, values, and dreams - and building my own self-compassion. This practice feels like parenting and caring for myself like I would my own children - tending to myself like a baby plant in need of some watering, nutritious soil, a splash of sunlight. This helps me break out of the molds and constraints of expectations that weren’t mine to begin with.
Journaling prompt: My most compassionate self would say…
3. Writing affirmations and giving myself a permission slip - If perfectionism is hustling for worthiness and validation, then affirming my own inherent worth is an antidote. This way, I’m not looking outside myself because I already feel worthy just as I am. My practice includes affirming that I’m a good mom no matter the circumstances, and giving myself permission to release the pressure of meeting external expectations. Often, I’m simply giving myself permission to be imperfectly human.
Journaling prompt: I’m a good mom who… and Today, I give myself permission to…
Happy Women’s History Month! Let’s change history and break those cycles. I believe in you, and am sending you lots of love on your journey.
References
Winfrey, O. (2013). Why Brene Brown Says Perfectionism Is a 20-Ton Shield [Oprah LifeClass].