A couple of years ago, this question would have been answered with a resounding YES! Like many moms, I gave up hundreds of things I loved to stay home with my children, ensuring they would never be one of those kids who spent as much time in daycare as I did at work. I wiped their butts, dried their tears, and made sure they had “three hots” plus healthy snacks every day, hoping to grow their bodies strong. Television time was monitored, bedtimes were routine, and each night was punctuated with literacy and kisses. Even before they started school, they had daily projects, crafts, and learning activities at the kitchen table—guided by my very own loving voice and intuition. Am I a good mother? Heck yeah!
School started, and they moved away from the nest I had carefully built. Yet, lunches were packed with nutrition and comfort in mind, hoping that, midway through their day, they would remember and appreciate all the love waiting for them at home. I would drive to school an hour early, ensuring I was at the front of the line in my white and shining minivan, giving them bragging rights of being the first kids picked up after a long day of academics. And gosh, what else did I have to do if not tend to the kids? In that van, every day started with a loving “How was your day?” followed by some apple juice and graham crackers, an attempt to ease the hunger pains I was sure they must be feeling. Arriving home to snacks and a neat and tidy house, with all the laundry done and dinner in the crock-pot, it was time to focus on homework, relaxation, and reconnecting. Day by day, the routine remained the same. In my eyes, the measure of being a good mother was the happiness on their faces and the love in their hearts.
The Shifting Reality of Parenting
I can’t say exactly when all of that changed. Mornings started to blur into afternoons, and instead of looking forward to picking up these same kids from school, I found myself bracing for the arguments and fights that would undoubtedly ensue once they were all together. The gentle closing of sliding doors was replaced with angry slams, and the shuffle of expensive book bags being thrown across the soda-stained carpet of the van. Spiteful exchanges about whose turn it was to sit up front replaced the exciting renditions of playground antics. Immediate stress replaced the calm and anxious feeling I once had when waiting to pick up my kids after school.
Am I a good mother? Judging by my reactions to this change, I wonder. No longer do I rise above my frustrations as I once did. I find myself getting angry too quickly, tired of trying to be nice and thoughtful in order to instill responsibility in my children. My own harsh judgments, which now impose punishments instead of peaceful talks, have formed their own version of justice. My ears, once eager to hear the sweet voices of my daughters, have turned mostly deaf. Some days, I wonder if I’m missing something I should be listening to or if I should let the sisters sort things out on their own. After all, all those years of talking about feelings, respect, and family seem to have been ignored. As my patience wears thin, I find myself inwardly resentful of the sacrifices I’ve made to care for them. Do I love them? Undoubtedly. Do I like them? Sometimes, no. Am I a good mother? My once-resounding yes is now replaced with doubts. Would a good mother actually admit there are times she doesn’t like her own children?
Yet, there are days when raising kids feels incredibly rewarding, and I’m super proud of their accomplishments. I see them bringing home straight A’s, studying, and taking care of their responsibilities. Teachers and other adults compliment me on how well-behaved they are away from home. I hear them speak and reason with remembrances of the conversations about happiness, equality, and love we had years ago at the kitchen table—a table now barren as the kids retreat to their rooms rather than hanging around to talk while I cook. Other days, I walk into their room and see them playing peacefully together, or I see the older ones being kind to the younger ones, and I beam with pride and admiration for who these kids are. In those moments, I return to thinking, “I am a good mother.”
Yet, at any time of day, I know things can change. I know that one of them will hate me for a decision I made. I know I can become easily angered and frustrated by their ungratefulness and selfishness. I know that a simple car ride home from school can raise my blood pressure and result in at least one of them being grounded for a week. I also know that letting my guard down is dangerous, and I must always be ready to react and stand in control when things get crazy. I know that they won’t listen unless I nag them to do their chores or homework. I know that they will try to break every rule I’ve set if I turn my back. I also know that there will be moments every day when I don’t enjoy spending time with my kids the way I used to. It was so much easier when all it took was loving my kids and playing with them endlessly. And on those days, I wonder, Am I a good mother?
After all, if I were a good mother, wouldn’t that be reflected in my children all the time? Wouldn’t they be like puppets, with me as the puppeteer happily conducting a perfect performance of life?
In my humble opinion, here’s the truth: it starts out easy, so parents develop that undying love necessary to forgive their kids when they do or say awful things later in life. Everything is cute—filled with hugs, tender moments, and kisses at first—to ensure parents don’t eat their young, like some other mammals do. But when it gets tough, it’s harder to judge whether or not you’re a good parent. When the kids do bad things or make life difficult, it’s easy to blame yourself or wonder where you’ve gone wrong. Yet ultimately, parenting and being a good mother isn’t about waiting for the outcome to determine your worth. That would be like saying that every team that lost a Super Bowl didn’t have a good coach. The real measure of answering the “Am I a good mother?” question is doing the best you can while you’re in the game, calling the plays as you see them in the moment. Right or wrong, win or lose, being a good mother means not quitting and enduring the tough seasons with enough love left to reap the benefits of family down the long road of life.
