As the first day of school approached, I envisioned creating a heartwarming breakfast for my children. I woke up early, eager to fry bacon, warm croissants, and slice fresh fruit. I imagined our school-aged kids, sleepy-eyed and a bit nervous, coming downstairs excited for the new academic year. My goal was to provide a nourishing meal that would fill their minds and bodies with love, prompting sticky kisses and grateful hugs in return.
But reality proved to be far from my expectations. Two of the kids slept through their alarms, while another caused a commotion over the hot water usage. To top it off, one child had an unfortunate accident, causing chaos just when I thought I was prepared. The bacon was undercooked, the croissants burned, and the fruit went untouched. The morning quickly unraveled into an overwhelming scramble.
Having just moved two weeks prior, I had neither informed the school’s transportation department nor located the bus stop. I relied on my ten-year-old daughter’s confidence about the bus route she had never taken. As I sipped my long-awaited coffee, she rushed in, breathless, to tell me the bus driver had missed them. Panic set in as I realized we were running out of time.
Barefoot and without a bra, I gathered my two youngest daughters and urged the older kids to hurry to our van. Frustrated, I questioned how my daughter had managed to mess up the bus stop details. My words, mixed with her anxiety about the new school year, led to an emotional moment that set the tone for the day.
We barely made it to the school on time, but my curt demeanor as they exited the van left lingering feelings of guilt. By the time I returned home, I was overwhelmed with tension and regret, wishing I had captured a single photo of my children in the moment. Instead, I knew that across social media, parents would be sharing polished pictures of their kids, all smiles and perfectly styled outfits.
In a moment of honesty, I decided to take a selfie of myself standing by the van, holding my prescription bottle of Xanax. I posted it with a candid caption about how the morning had gone awry. While many comments were supportive, praising my authenticity, I was shocked by the negative responses. Strangers labeled me as “an addict” or a “bad mom,” questioning my ability to parent because of my medication. One particularly judgmental commenter even asserted that my children needed prayers for being raised by a “weak mother.”
This reaction made me consider the double standard in parenting culture. When a mother shares a photo of herself enjoying wine, she is often celebrated and met with laughter. Yet, when I openly acknowledge my use of prescribed medication, I face scrutiny and harsh judgment. Why is alcohol use socially acceptable while medication is stigmatized?
The truth is that many mothers rely on alcohol to cope, and it’s often framed as humorous or relatable, while those of us who take psych meds are viewed with suspicion or disdain. This isn’t about demonizing drinking; it’s about highlighting the unfairness of the narrative surrounding medication. I am a more effective parent because I manage my mental health with medication, not in spite of it.
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In summary, the double standard surrounding medication versus alcohol use in motherhood is pervasive and destructive. As we navigate the challenges of parenting, it’s essential to foster understanding and support, regardless of how we choose to cope.