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Parenting
By Linda Green
March 15, 2018
Admit it: parenting can often feel like a staged performance where the expectations are impossibly high. I’ve found myself wrapped in a web of lies—especially when it comes to my kids. And no, I’m not referring to the classic tales of Santa or the Tooth Fairy. What I’m talking about is far more insidious.
Every time I reassure my children that it’s okay to stumble, I’m not being entirely honest. When I tell them that perfection isn’t necessary, I struggle to mean it. The truth is, I want them to avoid the pitfalls of my own perfectionist tendencies that have plagued me since childhood.
I didn’t recognize how deeply ingrained this mindset was until I became a mother. My first pregnancy felt like a dream—no complications, minimal nausea, and I even managed to maintain my pre-baby figure. I thought I had motherhood all figured out. But that illusion shattered just 48 hours postpartum when my baby, Ethan, refused to latch, leaving me frantic and in tears.
As the days turned into weeks, I watched my once-chubby baby lose weight, and I felt a sense of failure that was almost unbearable. To top it off, Ethan developed baby acne that I unknowingly worsened by obsessively cleaning his skin, driven by my desire for picture-perfect moments.
Fast forward four years, and I vividly recall a moment when Ethan was the “Star of the Week” in preschool. His poster featured a backward “J,” and despite the teachers’ advice to leave it, I couldn’t resist the urge to correct him. Did he fix it? Sure. But I felt like I had failed him in teaching that mistakes are a part of learning.
I cringe at the memory of fussing over his appearance for family photos, worrying about how he would be perceived. The same goes for my daughter, Lily, whose wild hair I often tried to tame, or my youngest, Max, who I judged for not dribbling a basketball as well as his peers.
At nearly 38 years old, I’m the proud mother of three wonderfully unique children. Ethan is a little inventor with a heart full of creativity; Lily is a kind spirit, always making gifts for those she loves; and Max is a whirlwind of fun and energy. Despite their differences, they each embody the essence of what it means to be “perfectly imperfect.”
I genuinely want my kids to experience failure because it’s a crucial part of growth. I want them to understand that their worth is not tied to their achievements. The most successful individuals thrive on the lessons learned from setbacks. I can preach these truths, but I often struggle to internalize them myself.
Some days, that perfectionist voice in my head drowns out my rational thoughts. I know logically that a cavity doesn’t equate to failure in parenting and that not every grade needs to be an A. Yet, my insecurities often cloud my judgment. I realize this isn’t the kind of mother I want to be. It’s a relentless and unrealistic standard that my children will never meet.
So how do I teach them the value of embracing imperfection? By allowing myself to fail and showing them that it’s okay to do the same. I’m learning to celebrate messiness as a sign of creativity and growth. Today, I refuse to re-fold the laundry; I’ll let Lily style her own hair, and I’ll embrace the chaos of their artistic endeavors.
I am proud to be part of a beautifully imperfect family, where we support each other through failures and celebrate our unique journeys.
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In summary, navigating the waters of motherhood while battling perfectionism is a challenging journey. By embracing our imperfections and allowing ourselves to fail, we can foster resilience and authenticity in our children.
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