I have a confession: I’m a reformed perfectionist. It’s not that I believe I’m perfect; rather, I have an inherent drive to excel in every aspect of my life. I’m a people-pleaser who often places too much importance on others’ opinions. My goal has always been to perform any task exceptionally well.
In the early stages of my life, everything seemed manageable. I excelled academically, fell in love, got married, and secured a fulfilling teaching position. My first cozy apartment was kept spotless, and I prepared elaborate meals for my husband. Our lives were filled with gym sessions and spontaneous dinners out—everything seemed idyllic.
Then we welcomed children into our lives.
Let me clarify: it’s not the kids’ fault. Each of my children has brought me immense joy and unforgettable moments. However, the challenge arises when trying to maintain a facade of perfection while sharing your space with little ones. I attempted to juggle it all—keeping up with friends, being the perfect spouse, and managing household chores. I aimed to keep every piece of laundry pristine, maintain spotless floors, sign school forms promptly, and return library books on time. Yet, the more I strived for perfection, the more resentment I felt toward the chaos created by those I lived with. You know, the little ones who left crumbs everywhere, spilled drinks, and scattered toys all over the house.
My husband, too, contributed to the clutter, often placing laundry on top of the hamper instead of inside. The constant whines, the arguments between siblings, and the endless demands felt overwhelming. I was exhausted and irritable, constantly battling against the mess that seemed to multiply daily.
My expectations were not limited to household chores; they extended to my children’s academic performance as well. Parent-teacher conferences that yielded less-than-stellar feedback left me devastated. This wasn’t about comparing myself to other mothers; it was an internal struggle. Am I doing enough? Am I the mother my children deserve? Is my husband satisfied with me? Is our home clean enough? Are my children happy and well-adjusted? These questions haunted me, especially as a mother of six. I often worried that others viewed me as overwhelmed.
Fortunately, I recognized this issue before it negatively impacted my children (in this regard, at least). I’ve long measured my self-worth through my achievements. Whether as a daughter, wife, sister, or friend, I sought validation from my performance. As a teacher, evaluations provided tangible proof of my effectiveness. But motherhood lacks such a grading system. There are no report cards to affirm that you’re doing well, especially on those days when everything seems to go wrong—like when you can’t find a shoe and you’re running late for school, or when a toddler decides to add their creative touch to a freshly cleaned wall.
On those chaotic days, when dinner consists of hot dogs yet again, or when you lose your temper for no reason other than sheer exhaustion, perfection feels like a distant fantasy. The reality is that life is messy, and it becomes even messier with children. It took me too long to understand that perfection is an illusion. Striving for it while raising kids is akin to “shoveling the walk before it stops snowing,” as Phyllis Diller famously said—it’s ultimately futile.
I’m slowly learning to embrace the chaos. I prioritize hugs over sweeping and laughter over scrubbing. I involve my kids in household tasks, which alleviates some of the burden. Instead of worrying about what other mothers think, I focus on my children’s perspectives. I guide them, allowing them to become who they are meant to be rather than who I envision. After all, they won’t remember how clean the floors were; they will remember the love and warmth I provided.
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In summary, striving for perfection in motherhood is a futile endeavor. Embracing the messiness of life with children allows for more meaningful experiences and memories. Prioritizing love and connection over cleanliness will have a lasting impact on your children, far surpassing the fleeting satisfaction of a spotless home.