In the past, I held a rigid belief about what it meant to be a “good mom.” I thought it meant maintaining an endless supply of dishwasher pods, laundry detergent, toilet paper, and diapers. I imagined my home always being ready for guests, complete with homemade snacks prepared daily. The responsibilities of cleaning, organizing, and managing the household seemed to fall squarely on the shoulders of the mother. I envisioned well-planned meals, freshly folded laundry, and vacuumed floors every night before bed. I can trace this unrealistic idealism back to shows like The Brady Bunch and countless sitcom moms from the Nick at Nite lineup.
This perspective set me up for regular failure, forcing me into a cycle of disappointment. I had convinced myself that motherhood would transform me into a domestic goddess, ignoring the fact that, during college, I was the one with a towering pile of dirty dishes that drove my roommates crazy.
As it turned out, becoming a mom didn’t change me; instead, it amplified my struggles. I found myself juggling the monumental task of keeping a tiny human alive alongside the seemingly endless chores of organizing and cleaning. The demands of motherhood often left me exhausted, making it even more challenging to stay on top of household supplies.
One would think that someone with my intelligence would realize the need for help. Instead, I stubbornly aimed to prove I could do everything myself. Other mothers seemed to manage it all, so why couldn’t I? Even as life became increasingly chaotic—returning to work and having four more children—I maintained the belief that all responsibilities fell on my shoulders. Pride, more than sleep deprivation, drove my thinking.
This led to numerous breakdowns, much to my husband’s confusion. I oscillated between trying to prove my capabilities and collapsing into despair. During these episodes, I rejected my husband’s offers to help, convinced that I alone knew how to run our household effectively. After all, I was the one who had given birth; I was the expert. I was sure he would mess things up, such as buying the wrong brand of detergent, which I deemed catastrophic. A particularly shrunk pair of dry-clean-only pants had solidified my fears about his laundry skills. Cooking? I figured I was the only one who could manage that.
Yet, the tasks never seemed to get done. My attempts at perfection resulted in utter breakdowns. I’d find myself crying out in frustration, demanding help while simultaneously refusing to articulate what I needed. It was as if I expected my family to read my mind. I wanted them to take action out of love and anticipation, even going so far as to dwell on past grievances to motivate them.
Ultimately, I was conflating being a good mom with being a good household manager. The truth is, managing a home is not my innate strength, and I failed to separate it from mothering. I mistakenly believed that if I maintained the household well, I was fulfilling my role as a mother. Perhaps it stemmed from observing other mothers excel at both roles, but I didn’t realize this was merely coincidental. In reality, my kids cared little about whether the house was spotless or if their socks matched.
It took years of this exhausting cycle for me to realize the error of my ways. As my children grew older, I still felt compelled to do things for them, even when they were perfectly capable of managing on their own. This mindset only fueled my resentment, dragging my kids into my breakdowns and amplifying my guilt as a mother.
Then, in a moment of desperation during another meltdown, I found myself ranting in the kitchen, “Does anyone else have arms?! Can’t you see this mess?” It suddenly dawned on me: they could see the chaos, and they should help. I learned it was okay to expect assistance from my family. From that day forward, I embraced a new rule: “If you can do it for yourself, you should.” This applied to everything from making beds to clearing their places at the table and handling their laundry.
I decided to step back from being the world’s manager and instead teach my family to manage themselves. By assuming sole responsibility for the household, I had inadvertently trained them to rely on me when they shouldn’t. No one can do it all, not even a mother. Moreover, as they mature, my children are entirely capable of stepping up and contributing.
My husband was relieved. He had been telling me for years that he could handle grocery shopping, cleaning, cooking, and fatherhood. I finally chose to believe him, expressing gratitude for his help instead of critiquing his methods. To my surprise, he often approached tasks in ways that were even more effective than mine.
Initially, my children resisted my newfound expectations, claiming they couldn’t possibly manage tasks like getting their own drinks. “Mom’s the best at getting ice water!” they argued. Yet, they gradually learned that “If you can do it for yourself, you should” was the new norm. They now help with dishes, laundry, and even fetching their own drinks. This process is messy yet beautiful; they are learning to take responsibility for their lives.
I realized I loved my children (and my sanity) too much to let them continue living in a world where I acted as their maid while they lounged about. I became concerned that my example would discourage them from wanting to take on parenting themselves someday. It was vital to demonstrate that we all need to contribute to making our home a better place. We are a team, and we should always ask, “How can I help?”
Once I set aside my pride, I could see that this was a gift to my children—the gift of accomplishment, contribution, and learning how to be responsible roommates. Although they don’t always appreciate these lessons now, I know they will benefit in the future. Plus, I find myself calmer and less reactive. When I choose to help them or take on chores, they express gratitude instead of taking my efforts for granted. They understand that hard work is required, and they have tackled it themselves.
Ending my role as the household manager has freed me up to focus on nurturing their hearts and dreams, engaging in meaningful conversations, and sharing laughs over our favorite shows. I can now be present for them, which often means sitting nearby while they handle the dishes I once did alone. These are the core aspects of motherhood that I can now embrace far better without the burden of managing everything myself.
If you ever find yourself feeling more like a maid than a mom or struggling with the mess right in front of you, consider stepping back. Let your family help. Fire yourself from the role of household manager, and allow your children to learn the value of contributing. You might find that they appreciate you more for it—eventually.
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Summary:
My initial misconceptions about what it meant to be a good mom led me to burnout and frustration. I confused effective household management with good parenting, causing me to neglect my own needs and those of my family. Through a series of breakdowns and realizations, I learned to delegate responsibilities to my children and husband, emphasizing the importance of teamwork. This shift not only relieved my stress but also taught my kids valuable lessons about contributing to our home. By stepping away from the role of manager, I’ve focused on nurturing my family’s emotional needs and fostering their independence.