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Not long ago, social media was my escape. I could juggle my phone while nursing, scrolling through endless posts about dazzling home renovations, tropical vacations, and must-read books—all while stuck on my couch.
Fast forward to today, and my Instagram feed has turned from a delightful distraction into a heavy burden. Rather than a mental break, it feels like a series of brief lectures and an ever-growing list of parenting tasks, all dictated by the algorithm. It knows just how to push my buttons, blending amusing memes with advice from various parenting “experts.”
Initially, I welcomed these expert accounts. They seemed like a treasure trove of wisdom—no need to sift through lengthy parenting books when all that knowledge was so neatly packaged! I discovered pediatric nutritionists, child therapists, and potty training specialists, providing expert guidance. For a while, their advice felt like a gift. But soon, it became overwhelming.
Every time I logged on, I encountered new directives: Rotate toys! Manage tantrums this way! Switch to fluoride toothpaste! Validate emotions! Teach mindfulness! With each scroll, I felt increasingly inadequate. How could I possibly be a loving, capable mom when I was oblivious to so many tips? How did previous generations navigate parenting without these scripted solutions? It’s ironic: the very advice designed to empower us often leaves us doubting our abilities.
Then one day, my daughter inadvertently helped me see things differently. After spotting her younger sister rearranging her dollhouse without permission, she tipped the house forward, sending its contents sprawling. “What are you doing?” I asked, exasperated by the chaos.
Her reply included the usual reprimands but also a poignant insight: The dollhouse mirrors our home—not in appearance, but in the feelings it evokes—silliness, safety, and comfort.
At that moment, I realized my goal as a parent isn’t to absorb every piece of advice. Instead, it’s to nurture and protect the sense of home my daughters already feel. My aim is for them to recall a childhood filled with warmth and joy, which guides my parenting philosophy.
I envision my kids as adults, reminiscing about their upbringing. This backward thinking helps me focus on what truly matters—a home where silliness and comfort coexist.
Of course, I can’t control what they remember, but I can create moments that contribute to the childhood I desire for them. Whether it’s showing them love on tough mornings or offering hugs during their heartaches, these moments shape their memories.
I’ve accepted that I won’t be a perfect mother, regardless of the advice I try to follow. But by envisioning how my children will remember their childhood and working backward, I’ve discovered freedom and the confidence to enjoy this journey.
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