Parenting Insights
Disarray triggers a physical reaction in me; it’s as if my throat constricts. And glitter? That’s enough to send me into a frenzy. I only allow our children to have water because the thought of cleaning up spilled juice makes me feel utterly overwhelmed. It’s not merely a puddle; it splatters on furniture and sticks like glue. I know this because I’m the type of parent who scrambles on the floor to ensure I’ve eradicated every last drop.
“You should just take it easy!” my well-meaning friends and family often suggest. That sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? I’d love to be at ease. I try to adopt a more laid-back approach, emulating those who seem unbothered—like casually handing out juice as if it doesn’t terrify me. When the inevitable spill occurs, I calmly instruct my child to clean it up. I maintain my composure because I’m no longer anxious, or so I tell myself.
I hand the child a paper towel, deliberately turn my gaze away from the sloppy clean-up, and force a smile—because that’s what calm people do. They smile through the chaos. They don’t grind their teeth at the thought of grape juice being traipsed through the house. It seems effortless for them, but in reality, cultivating calmness is a demanding task.
Then, my child turns to me and innocently asks, “Where’s my real mommy?”
This little experiment leaves me awake at night, imagining a stream of ants attracted to the juice I missed while cleaning. I find myself scrubbing the kitchen floor at 2 a.m. because that’s the instinct of a meticulous parent: to clean in the dead of night when something is amiss.
Fingerprints on windows, toothpaste splatters on mirrors, and crumbs on floors drive me up the wall. I have a stash of cleaning supplies and Clorox wipes in each bathroom, because nothing unnerves me more than a mess that wasn’t properly contained. My tendencies can be problematic, especially as the mother of three children under the age of seven. I’m either raising future leaders of an Obsessive-Compulsive Anonymous or setting them up for a lifetime of therapy sessions—perhaps both.
For several years, my anxiety peaked until I was vastly outnumbered by children—who produce snot, mess, and chaos at an alarming rate. These children choose their own outfits, sometimes insisting on wearing costumes to the grocery store, and they think it’s hilarious to crush snacks all over the floor.
Kids simply don’t heed parental neuroses. They care about snack time and imaginary friends named “Banana.”
By the time I had my third child, I was utterly exhausted. I didn’t surrender without a fight, mind you. I put forth a valiant effort to maintain cleanliness and order, striving to keep nails trimmed and floors spotless. But one day, with the baby crying, a toilet overflowing, and food flying, I realized there was too much to manage at once. My last shred of patience evaporated.
I was simply out of patience.
I wish I could tell you that letting go of some of that obsession about messes has been liberating. I’d like to say I feel at peace with the rings in my sinks and the question of when the toilets were last thoroughly cleaned. Yet, the reality is that I just feel drained.
What I can say is that when fatigue overwhelms a meticulous parent, it forces them to be less uptight. And when they finally lie down, their children gather around, playing with their hair, running toy cars over their limbs, poking at them and asking, “Does Mommy have a belly button?”
It’s a beautiful, freeing experience—until someone inevitably gets a bloody nose.
Perhaps my kids will fondly remember their childhood and think of how tidy the house always was, or maybe they’ll recall my frantic reactions to every little mess. Regardless, they will know they were loved—perhaps imperfectly, but always with my whole heart. Because if nothing else, anxious parents pour all they have into their children.
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Summary
This article reflects on the struggles of parenting with anxiety, illustrating the challenges and humorous realities faced by mothers overwhelmed by mess and chaos. It emphasizes the importance of love and acceptance in motherhood, regardless of imperfections.
Keyphrase: Conquering anxious motherhood
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