My Inner (Mom)ologue
I do not know any perfect mother -- but I do know one too many moms who need to be kinder to themselves.
A few weeks ago, I was at the gym while my son was at day camp. It was a treat to be able to work out, knowing he was happy and safe, doing arts and crafts with his friends. I was relishing my good fortune when an older gentleman stepped onto the treadmill next to me and started talking on the phone.
Loudly.
Before I could turn up my own music, a phrase he said caught my attention.
“Honey,” he said. “You’re such a good mom. I wish you’d wake up and tell yourself that every morning.”
He went on to remind her that evidence of her good mothering is in her every act: how she speaks (the tone, the words), how she loves, how she shows up (the birthday parties, the gymnastics practice, the homework help), how she expresses disappointment, how she chooses what activities to do and what not to do.
It took all of my energy not to stop my treadmill and hug this man. It was a beautiful thing to witness — the joy, the celebration, the applause and recognition of what it means to be a good mother.
How often do we have an inner monologue of criticism on a loop? How many times do we wonder internally (and aloud) whether we’re doing a good job? Whether we’re doing it right?
And the questioning starts before our babies are even born.
I once had a friend who once told a coworker that she ate a hot dog while pregnant, and they looked at her like she was doing lines of cocaine. She went home and sobbed after that.
I have watched people tell my friend, who is a breast cancer survivor, that she is a terrible human for using a gestational surrogate to bring her baby boy earthside, and that doing so means that she’s participating in human trafficking. (Insane, I know.)
After hearing an offhand comment about having a NA beer while I myself was pregnant, I made the mistake of going on the What to Expect When Your Expecting to “investigate” the validity of this claim, and saw hundreds of comments from strangers berating other women with the same question, essentially saying that they were giving their baby Fetal Alchool Syndrome by drinking a beverage THAT HAS NO ALCOHOL. (Thank goodness I had a wonderful OBGYN, who told me that my NA beer was absolutely, unequivocally FINE.)
The internet is the Wild Wild West — and there are far too many people weighing in on situations that will never affect them. Far too many people making a career out of fear mongering, or hate spewing, or capitalizing on the very real stresses of being a parent. But that’s an essay for another day.
Right now, we’re talking about the inner loop of critical thoughts that circulate way too often in mothers’ heads.
Am I picking the right preschool? Do they play enough outside? Do I yell too much? Do I have enough patience? Are they eating enough? The right things? Are they drinking enough water? Is the water bottle nontoxic? Are they making friends? Am I a gentle parent if I still lose my patience? Will they hate me when I make a mistake? Is it bad to need a break? How do I pour into them and into myself? How many extracurricular activities is too many activities? Is it ever ok to watch TV? How do I protect them from the mean kids? Do I protect them too much? Where do all the hours go in the day? How does she do it all? What am I missing?
Sometimes, we’re our own worst enemy, aren’t we? Sometimes, the inner (mom)ologue of criticism is the hardest thing to tune out, especially when we are constantly looking at how people whom we will never meet are parenting their kids.
Recently, the algorithm served me an account of a mother thousands of miles from where I live, who started a nature homeschool for her kids because she has sons and didn’t want them to be chained to a desk all day.
So then for a good hour of my day, I started to wonder if I should homeschool my son. Not because I didn’t believe in or like the public schools in our area. Not because I had some brilliant homeschool plan of my own. Not because I thought that homeschool was appropriate for my child, my family, or our values.
I started wondering about this because somehow, this woman’s choice felt like a critique of my own, and then I started doubting my own instinct, my own decisions, my own mothering skillset.
It’s insanity.
But too many of us do it.
Too many of us start to let the inner “momologue” play a loop of doubt, of criticism, of second-guessing and anxiety-inducing thoughts, when really, we need to learn how to turn it off.
Really, we need to learn how to say, “That’s beautiful for you, but it’s not for me.”
Really, we need to recognize that the mothering/parenting choices of a person miles away, or even a family down the block, should not take up so much real estate in our heads.
Really, we need to trust ourselves a little bit more.
And, as the man on the treadmill said to his wife — we need to remind ourselves of the goodness that we’re doing every day. We need to change our inner (mom)ologue. So repeat after me: I’m a good mom. I’m ‘doing the best I can. I’m giving this my whole heart. I can put my head down on my pillow at night knowing that I’m giving this my all, and that is enough. It is more than enough.
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