The Motherhood Confessions: The Secret Shame of What We Do and Say When No One's Looking
by Katie Pace
“That looks stupid.”
I actually said those words to my seven-year-old daughter before I could stop them from flying out of my mouth. We had an event to attend with people we hadn’t seen in a long time and I really wanted everyone to look their best. But my daughter was insistent on wearing this tacky, hideous headband that she’d fished out of a prize box at the dentist. Or maybe she’d taken it home as a party favor or collected it from some other childhood event that supplies you with all the ugliest crap you never wanted.
“so instead of acting like a self-actualized adult, I went straight for her looks - the jugular of girlhood. ”
So instead of acting like a self-actualized adult, I went straight for her looks - the jugular of girlhood. And one area I swore I’d never touch. You know how you have those things that screwed you up as a kid that you promise on all of the holy things that you won’t repeat? This was (one) of mine. And I regurgitated it like I hadn’t had thirty plus years to digest it.
I mean I tried to be the good mom when she first appeared wearing the offending accessory. I utilized all the respectful parenting techniques when my patience was still intact. I gave her options of other sequin-free hair pieces. I offered to put her hair in a braid or bun or another style that rational people wear. I asked her if she could accessorize with the flair of her choice the following day and just do me this one favor. But instead she stomped around the house until we were late and my head was about to actually pop off. She was hurt that I was challenging her right to fashion independence and I was angry that I wasn’t in control. And so I said “it,” just as a child would. To my child. She yelled “FINE!” and gave in. It was done. She looked cute and sane and I, of course, now had a classy child, not one of those sparkle and shine heathens.
My outburst was never spoken of again.
Not aloud anyway.
But in my head I have had many conversations about the incident. Because I have not moved on. I have instead taken a self-guided tour down the rabbit hole, exploring the domino effect of what’s going to happen to my daughter as a result of my inability to not shame her fundamental self, appearance, choices. I hate myself for saying it. I know my husband was ashamed of me. I felt the harsh sting of his eyes dart away from mine when it happened. And in the weeks since, I have wondered why my shame feels so intense. Why the mistakes I make as a parent — maybe just as a human — feel so raw and permanent. And I’ve come to the conclusion that it is both layers of guilt and regret in a giant package of deep isolation.
I am not the only one that has uttered something shitty to their kid. Everyone has had their asshole parent moment(s)(s)(s) while dealing with a kid. But no one really knows that we are all asshole parents because we all suffer in silence over our own parenting disgrace. I, however, know this because this time, I confessed it. As the years of childrearing have progressed, I’ve realized there is very little that I am the only one experiencing. So I swallowed my pride like a dry pill and started a poll. I told this story to people, both close friends and some bewildered acquaintances that will likely never be my friend now, and held my breath for their reactions. And to be honest, it was received with mixed results.
“everyone has had their asshole parent moment(s)(s)(s) while dealing with a kid. but no one really knows that we are all asshole parents because we all suffer in silence over our own parenting disgrace.”
Many people’s first reactions were of extreme judgement. And why not? It makes us feel so much better about ourselves when someone sucks at something more than we do. There were a couple of “wow” reactions. Funny how one simple, three-letter-word can say so much.
In a group setting, one person looked down and didn’t say a single word. Another replied, “I can’t IMAGINE ever saying anything like that!” Ah. Thanks. But as I continued my line of guilt-ridden questioning, they all slowly began to back off and I realized everyone had something. Something they wished they could take back or get a grip on. Something they were convinced their children would need therapy for someday. Something that made them lose sleep at night. Something they were profoundly, and completely, screwing up.
Now, there are many reasons why we commit these acts of parental penitence. The constant push and pull of work and children can begin to take its toll when there is no break. The stress of modern life — deadlines and money and busy calendars, spouses and marriage and god, spouses— leaves us too spent with fuses far too short to continually combat all the fireballs kids are throwing at us. And there is often very little space to step back in order to create room for patience and more conscious parenting.
“the stress of modern life — deadlines and money and busy calendars, spouses and marriage and god, spouses— leaves us too spent with fuses far too short to continually combat all the fireballs kids are throwing at us.”
But sometimes it’s deeper than that. Maybe it’s way down in that dark place that we thought we had already shone a light. That place where demons sleep and regrets are born. For my situation, it was an amalgamation of an old wound and a tired pattern. The first being my need to impress people, something I thought therapy and evolution would’ve healed by now, but in certain situations, mostly with certain people, still presents itself. And the second, my need to control.
I grew up in a prominent family in our community and our appearance was always on display. And eventually the expectations of looking our finest began to seep into our family culture. I know that it’s woven into many families. Looking good has been a staple of households since before “Leave it to Beaver.” We pride ourselves on happy, healthy, beautiful families — as we should! But I always felt like I was failing at this feat of beauty and accomplishment. I was an awkward kid with frizzy hair that a PE coach once told me looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket. Then puberty and depression paved way for a chubby teen with hair I still didn’t know how to manage.
I had four sisters that I constantly compared myself to, in both appearance as well as talent. But being “the pretty one” was never my title. I also spent a lot of time worrying about what my mother thought. She was, and still is, a tiny little thing who invariably had the right clothes and hair and nails. Her house was immaculate and I can still smell the perfume floating in her bathroom after she would get ready to go somewhere. While I was always a little disheveled, my mother looked pretty and put-together everywhere we went. But she was hard on herself. She never met her own standards and in my mind if she didn’t, I certainly didn’t either. So I spent a lot of years trying to control my weight, alter my appearance and become someone better than I was. But truthfully the way my mother felt about herself was completely separate of me. It was just one of those rhythms that plays on repeat that you can’t escape.
Time and self-reflection, as well as the strength and independence I inherited from my mom, has healed many of my own issues regarding where I stack up. And to be honest, I am pretty ok with myself now. But occasionally, it still sneaks in. And I’ve found that when I’m unhappy with myself, I project my self-dissatisfaction and perfectionism onto my kids. While I definitely don’t want my children to inherit this need for external validation, it’s something long ingrained in me that hasn’t been completely filtered out. Just like, I’m guessing, “it” is for all of us — for all of you.
Because it’s not what we have happening in our lives right now that gets us going as much as it is the old patterns. It’s the triggers of our childhood and past experiences that put something ugly into motion for us. The pain or sadness or fear or anger. The inadequacies, expectations and traumas. The cycles we haven’t quite broken or healed yet, even if we swore we would by now. And occasionally, as it turns out, the “cycle” is just that it’s really hard to be a parent.
Regardless of the reason for our choice words or actions, out of all the people I presented my story to with my own harsh humility, everyone had something they felt terrible admitting. They confessed with so much sorrow that many of them had trouble even saying it aloud. They stuttered and made excuses for why they did it. They hung their heads and told me they hated themselves for it; that it made them sick to think about. But while these good people all felt abominable within our conversation, I was feeling better. Because finally, I didn’t feel quite as alone in it.
Now there will be comments from sanctimommies (and daddies, and let’s face it - people who don’t even have children, but are miraculously model parents,) about how I am a bad mother. They will say this article is just creating a forum for bad parents to make themselves feel better. But I don’t believe we are bad parents. We are just parents. In fact, the reason we are losing sleep at night over this is because we are good parents who feel remorse for our blunders. And perhaps the real trouble lies in our inability to connect with others about it. The solitude that we live in with regards to our stories of shame, leads to depression, anxiety and low self-esteem, that in turn ushers in other poor parenting choices and ignites another bad cycle.
“they will say this article is just creating a forum for bad parents to make themselves feel better. but I don’t believe we are bad parents. we are just parents.”
As parents we are lonely. We are alone physically in our daily to-dos, no longer raising children in a village of family members and a likeminded community. And now intimate relationships are also hard to come by. After doing all of the mom things, how on earth do we have enough bandwidth to give energy to another adult? Connecting with even a good friend can seem like more work on top of everything else. And our partner? Good God, is there anything harder than trying to hear (and care) about their day when you still haven’t even processed yours? But if we don’t reach out - then we sit there. Alone. With our thoughts. Thinking about that thing that little Jimmy is struggling with at school. Or about how little Sally isn’t speaking to you anymore. More like little Liam and little Olivia, but you get the drift. We compare ourselves to Instamoms and real-life moms who seem like they have their shit together. Or maybe you compare yourself to your own mom — considering whether or not she would’ve done something like this. You ache to tell someone. But you can’t even confide in your partner, because your own disappointment is so heavy that you’ll be crushed under the weight of theirs. It’s a muddy slide that exhaustion makes more slippery and you only land in failure. Failure. That’s what you are. So you eat some feelings or drink some feelings or don’t sleep well or sleep too much. And you do it all alone.
We share our children’s successes and struggles. We give advice on everything from potty training to sex talks. We are open and honest with each other, but only to a point — the point of being too uncomfortable. Where the issue isn’t with our child, it’s with us; and more importantly, our shortcomings and our shame. The quiet punishments we give ourselves are already such a burdensome load on our consciousness that we simply can’t handle anything said aloud. God forbid we are left more raw and exposed than we already feel. We are so deeply entrenched in our own guilt and grief that we don’t dare share it, for fear that the judgment may actually kill us.
Because we know better. We know how to be good parents. We know what we are SUPPOSED to do — maybe not in every situation, but we have a grip on the right direction. And we also know what we are out to achieve. I am trying to create a mutually respectful, egalitarian relationship with my children. I am attempting to raise creative, confident and independent free thinkers who are kind and reverent. So I am painfully aware that telling my daughter that something she’s wearing looks stupid isn’t on any checklist for how to bring up a girl with those attributes.
“i am attempting to raise creative, confident and independent free thinkers who are kind and reverent. so I am painfully aware that telling my daughter that something she’s wearing looks stupid isn’t on any checklist for how to bring up a girl with those attributes. ”
But I am human. And things get harder and more complicated as little ones grow. From babies to teens, we change along with them. And sometimes it gets a little dicey trying to navigate the twists and turns and still keep our mental stability intact. But we aren’t actually alone. We just have to explore our history and circumstances in order to find out why we do it and then choose to be vulnerable. We can opt to keep the secrets of what happens within the walls of our homes, but that isn’t serving anyone. It’s not productive for our own parenting, mental health, or authenticity; and it’s not only isolating ourselves, but other mothers, fathers and caregivers that are processing the same feelings. Sharing it with our friends doesn’t make our actions excusable, but it makes them manageable, maybe even forgivable. After all, we are all far from perfect parents. Now how do we admit these mistakes to others when we can barely admit it to ourselves?
Well, let’s start here.
Katie Pace is an LA based ex-ad creative who is now a writer by day and everything-elser by night. You can find more of her articles here.
