Motherhood. The great world of pretenders. You want Golden Globes and Academy Awards - ask us overachieving mothers. The ones who try to do it all, make it all, and fix it all. Because that's what mothers do isn't it? We pretend. We hide. Or we fall apart; I don't know very many in between moms. And I'm one of those great pretenders. Or I use to be.
I walked into 2017 with one resolution. To stop pretending. To stop looking like I had everything together. To fall apart more publicly and create space in my life for imperfection. To genuinely stop chasing this "high" of having it all together. Because this is me over here trying to show you how great I am. It's really about control - isn't everything? But before I acknowledge that; let me humbly share my home-made gluten free vegan muffin recipe that I make each night; or pictures of my home in which I'm organized and have "Konmari-ed" the shit out of every drawer. There's nothing wrong with any of those things; it's the motive behind it. What's driving us? Who sent us all this stupid memo with these expectations that slowing down is the "devil's handiwork" and that upping one another on how much we are doing is the new conversation piece at playgroup.
Seriously. All we are is a bunch of tired mothers doing the best we can. That's it. That's what it boils down to. And we can't seem to figure out how to measure success in this crazy world of trying to have it together. The emotional climate of parenting we hate, yet continue creating. When is being ok good enough?
Maya Angelou once said that "Success is liking yourself. Liking what you do and how you do it." So, that's become my new mantra and measuring stick. I hold everything up against that (and invite you to do the same).
At some point we forgot about how it was ok to not be perfect. And began pretending we were. We don't hold our children to the same expectation or reality; because that would be insane. And not attainable. Yet here I am trying to control how I look and come across on facebook and instagram. Because that's the root of it all. If we can control enough. Pretend enough. And be perfect enough; we won't have to face reality. The reality that control is an abstract promise that isn't ever going to come through. We can push and pull certain ropes in this puppet show of parenting and of life; but we really have very little control of the outcome.
Here is the real kicker: we all know we are full of shit. Yet we go along with the fake smiles and stories because we are all playing the same game with the same pieces. No one wants to be the one to shout "uncle" first.
So, I'm out. I'm done. I could hair flip and "gracefully" lay down my super mom cape, but then I would be pretending again. And full of it. I promised myself I would stop. My house gets messy. I yell at my kids. My marriage isn't perfect. I am often terribly insensitive. I over analyze my body. I use boxed mixes when baking 50% of the time. Ok 75%. I hire house cleaners and then pretend I do it all. And more. So much more BS I can't see straight.
I just don't have the energy to be who I want to be while putting up this facade. It's exhausting. So, show me the real you. The messy, overwhelmed mama who's just trying to get her ass out of bed to enjoy her kids and family. Because that my friends are the real superhero's in all of this. And more importantly who I want my children to see. Me in all my imperfections; letting go and loving life.