Let's Talk Mom Pressure
Not guilt, but pressure
At the end of June, we went to Chicago to visit family. We are not necessarily a “screen-free” household, as my son will watch television, but he does not have any sort of tablet, nor is he allowed to use our phone for his own entertainment. Since movies are a treat, he looks forward to flying, as he knows that planes mean movie time.
Much to my and my husband’s horror, when we boarded our plane to Chicago, there were no televisions. Instead, American Airlines encouraged you to use WiFi and plug into your own device. So, in an effort to keep our promise about movie time on the plane, we allowed our son to watch a movie on our phone, utilizing the spotty airline WiFi. It was not ideal flying conditions for a four-year-old, but we made it work.
The whole experience got me thinking about how the airline just assumed everyone travels with their own tablet. That, of course, we’d have some sort of electronic entertainment in our back pockets, especially if we were daring to fly with a preschooler.
We often talk about “mom guilt”, but nobody talks enough about “mom pressure” — like peer pressure, but worse, because everyone has an opinion and everyone’s an adult and everyone can be particularly judgy if you’re not doing whatever everyone expects you to.
The questions and pressure start with basic things like sleep and nutrition. Do you cosleep? Do you sleep train? Do you breastfeed? Do you bottle feed? Do you know about the studies about breast milk versus formula? Do you know that it’s dangerous to keep your kids in your bed with you? Do you know that in foreign countries nobody cares if your kids are in your bed with you? Is your mattress organic? Is it Oeko-Tex certified? Do you feed them all the colors of the rainbow for every meal? Are all of their water bottles stainless steel? Are their toothbrushes bamboo? Are their creams pure from whatever cream is deemed organic nowadays? Do you know what can happen if your kids touch plastic? Do you take them to swim lessons? The library three times a week? Do you yell? Did you know that if you raise your voice, you’re going to send your children to therapy when they are in their twenties? Thirties? When they hit forty-five? Don’t you travel with your kids to Europe when they’re too young, because they won’t remember it. Travel with your kids while they’re young, because children’s strongest memories are from when they’re five years old to about ten.
Are you exhausted yet? Because I know I am.
We throw so much at mothers nowadays that it’s hard to think. It’s hard to hear that voice of instinct that all the mothers who came before us talk about, because everyone is yelling so damn loud.
The way in which we make everything a life-or-death situation is exhausting. Because it’s not even about guilt anymore — it’s about whether or not you’re doing a good job at mothering, the hardest job in the world.
You know who doesn’t need any additional pressure in their lives? Moms.
They heap on plenty of pressure all by themselves.
I was filling out paperwork for my son to be registered in our school district. He doesn’t start Kindergarten yet (thank GOODNESS because my heart can’t take it), but soon, that day will be upon us.
You know what I found to be the most peculiar thing about the registration? Talking about Chromebooks. Talking about computers. Talking about whether or not he would be allowed to take one home.
Cue the screentime pressure.
My son isn’t even five yet. He cannot read, and he’s just starting to learn how to write. But we, as a society, are going to give them computers? Before they know how to engage with their peers? Before they can read a book they can hold in their hands? Before they can write their name in a straight line, and not just letters floating in a random amalgamation on the page?
And then, after we give kids computers in elementary school, we’re all going to complain about how kids these days are always on their screens?
Make it make sense, please.
Of course, we should raise a technologically literate generation. But let’s not forget about what separates us from the machines, shall we? And that’s our hearts. Our empathy. Our emotional intelligence. Our ability to notice the beauty of the sunrise. The glow of the moon. The magic of fireflies.
My background is in education. I have a master’s degree in English education and theatre education from one of the best universities on the planet. I have worked in many a classroom. I have taught children of all ages, races, and socioeconomic backgrounds.
I believe in public education.
And yet, the pressure I feel when it comes to picking a preschool for my child is insane. I have had women tell me that UPK is too much for a four-year-old, because they don’t need to be gone from my care fo that long. I have had people tell me that if I do not send my son to a UPK situation (full day preschool), he will be classified as having ADD in Kindergarten, because there’s no way he’ll be able to sit that long without learning how to do so in Universal PreK.
I believe in public education. I believe in learning from the wisdom of your elders.
I do not believe that this level of pressure is helpful for anyone.
I’m not naive enough to think that it wasn’t there when my parents were raising my brother and me. And I know that people for generations upon generations have always felt a certain kind of pressure to live up to standards. To go with the flow. To be the one who is included, not left out. I know that there was always someone, somewhere, giving their unsolicited advice about potty training. And school choices. And extracurriculars. And the whole bottle versus breast debate.
But the pressure mothers face nowadays feels different. It feels all-consuming. It feels as if the stakes are so incredibly high that one wrong move, and you’re going to be screwed.
And I hate that.
I don’t think anyone needs that, especially mothers. What I think we need is nuance. And grace. And conversations where people can talk about what scares them in raising children — and what excites them, too. I think we need to think of other mothers, and fathers, as our fellow allies in raising good people.
I think that if we’re going to say things like “it takes a village” to raise a child, we have to be the village. And if we cannot be the village, if we cannot support, if the only words we can muster are ones rooted in guilt, or competition, or pressure, then I think we should remember the golden rule we learn in kindergarten: “If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
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