Dear Mama,
This one is for the good days (and the bad days) because as much as we don’t like to admit it, the bad days do exist. There are too many fake images and fake people, preaching from a soapbox about the virtues of what “good” motherhood is. The truth is, this isn’t real. Motherhood is inherently good. If you choose to show up, no matter how tired, cranky, and unwilling you may be sometimes- you’re doing a good job. And we just can’t have the good without the bad.
Some days, I feel like the worst mother in the world. I let my kid watch multiple hours of Ms. Rachel or Paw Patrol while I sleep in. I feed him crackers and cheese as a meal, not a vegetable in sight. We stay inside all day. I lay in the bed and watch as he plays, vacantly supervising rather than engaging. I look at my phone too much, scrolling Instagram shorts while breastfeeding. I get angry. I lose my cool and yell a bit too much. I don’t smile enough. We wear the same clothes from yesterday. We skip the bath. I rush the day, aching for a moment of alone time. Yet still, this doesn’t make me a “bad” mom. This is just a bad day.
In that “bad” day, what I don’t see are the small wins. The brief and painstaking moments I endure and persist onward, despite every ounce of me wanting to give in. Even when I do give in, sometimes that is still a win. Mothers deserve rest too. Mothers need naps. Mothers need time-outs. As much as I want to be perfect, I am only one human being. I have emotions. I get angry, sad, annoyed, irritated, apathetic, and everything in between. As I fumble through my own big person experience of sleep deprived emotional fall out, I model what it means to be human. I model how to feel emotion, how to express it, and ultimately how to eventually move through it. Everything ends. Even the anger.
In that “bad” day, I often fall into the comparison game. I see pictures of other mothers on Instagram with their perfectly dressed children, perfectly baked goods, and perfectly enriching activities. It makes me more angry and worse than that, it makes me feel guilty. I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I feel like I may not be cut out for this after all. I might just be a bad mom after all. Maybe I just… totally suck. Yet, its not true. This is the shame talking. This is the shadow aspect of an exhausted mama who’s doing her best, giving it her all, and still always feels like she’s missing the mark. This is the voice of a mother who actually wants to do better, who cares, and who aches to be the best for her children. Its just the dark side of that aspect of self.
In that “bad” day, despite all of the fear, the self-loathing, the anger, and the confusion- we carry on. The bellies get fed. We forget how small they really are… at the end of the day, all food is good food. While we can strive to create more nutritionally balanced meals, the truth is- not everyone has that privilege. Not everyone can access food. The fact that the bellies are fed, is the blessing. To have a clean diaper, is the blessing. Even if it gets changed just a bit too late for our standards, there is a fresh one waiting. And it does happen. Our children find joy in the smallest of things. They have no check-list for happiness. No “to-do’s” for a good day. They’ve never done this before. It is all new to them, just like it is to us. They love the Paw Patrol and think we’re the best for letting them watch it. They love the crackers. They love the pajama days. And most of all they love being around us, even if we are a bit vacant or sad. It is a blessing to get to spend time with mom. There is no one they’d rather be with, despite feeling like we don’t want to be with ourselves. They love us. They love us in our imperfections, in our anger, and in our mess.
Then, there are the good days. The days where we spend time outside. I watch him marvel at a tree or a flower. I ease up enough to let dirt be the activity (and a bubble bath be one later). I cook a meal that not only makes me happy, but that he eats as well. Even if its mostly the rice (and not so much the peppers or beef). We snuggle up to read books. I tickle him in perfect timing for surprise and laughter. I give hugs like I was born to do this and I revel in awe at the existence of this small human I created. We eat cherries and strawberries and baby carrots. We make art and I don’t get upset when my skin becomes the canvas. I laugh more than I cry and I don’t doubt for a single second that this is where I want to be… but none of this is possible without the bad days. Because I’m only human.
The bad days are where I get my strength. I may feel weak in that moment, but this is exactly what bodybuilders feel before they put in time. It takes effort, it takes agony, and it takes unhappiness to truly understand what happiness tastes like. The fruits of my labor taste sweet only in comparison to the bitter and sour days of burn out. Its on my bad days where I’m able to see my weak points. Not weak as in bad, but weak as in needing improvement. Weak as in there’s something missing. Sometimes its a podcast, sometimes its a nap, sometimes its a face mask, and sometimes its just letting the bad roll. I may not see it immediately, but eventually I become more aware of my own needs. I see where I have been neglecting myself. I see where I could plan better to make things easier on myself. I see where I can let go of control enough to enjoy the moment. I see where maybe I should ask for help. After many of these bad days, I see that they were never really bad at all. They were just a part of being a good mom.
So this one is for the good days (and the bad ones) because I think sometimes we all need a reminder of what that really is. This is motherhood. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Its not glorious. Its not glamorous. Its not Instagrammable and tell your friends-able. Its real life… and real life is complicated. Its complex, its confusing, and its exhausting. Like learning how to ride a bike, but 100x harder. We learn by taking it day by day. One moment at a time. And if you’re doing that, then I’m proud of you. No matter how many breaks you take. No matter how many breakdowns you have. No matter how much doubt you may be feeling or experiencing. If you’re still going, you’re a good mama.
//post date//
June 2025
Leave a Reply