The Mommy Guilt, AKA a losing battle....

Maybe I’m the only one, but lately I’ve found myself with a lot of Mommy Guilt. I sit around with it, throw it up in the air, bear it on my shoulders, let it force my head to hang. The Mommy Guilt is heavy. It's thick and complicated; it’s kind of like an albatross of sorts that I take with me wherever I go. Sometimes it even keeps me so frozen, paralyzed in my own self-awareness, that I can’t enjoy the things I am getting right. 

When I’m at work, I have a whole new set of responsibilities that I feel like I’m falling behind. When I’m at church, I feel guilty about shortcomings in my relationship with God. When at home, well the Mommy Guilt almost screams me into the pile of dirty clothes ever-gathering on the bathroom floor. It’s everywhere. I can’t escape it, and even if I did, I would feel so bad about escaping that I would inevitably crawl back in and waller around just to make up for lost time. 

The dirty nasty part of all this Mommy guilt that I don’t like to tell people about is that the whole habit tends to keep me from doing the things I should do, the things that make me proud of who I am. It goes a little something like this: 

I feel guilty that I didn’t make an appointment for Fischer’s 15-month well-baby check-up. We owe the clinic some money from a recent visit that I haven’t had time to pay, plus it keeps landing on the end of a pay-period. That bill just keeps getting overlooked. So I feel guilty about owing them money. I don’t want to make the appointment, because I’m embarrassed we owe them money. I’m embarrassed that we missed his appointment, and probably some important 15-month vaccinations, and I’m sure all my stay-at-home mommy friends, and superwoman mommy friends have never missed an appointment. They probably never owe money to the clinic, but even if they do, they probably pay it off and are debt-free. That’s probably why Porter has developmental speech issues to work through, because I’m too busy and embarrassed to keep up with all his milestones. I didn’t even write down when he got his first tooth, or started walking. I’m a horrible Mom. 

I could keep going. Honestly, that isn’t even a tenth of what I feel and what goes through my mind when I think about missing Fischer’s 15-month appointment. The funny thing is, I shared with my husband that I felt guilty about it and this is how our conversation went:

Me: We missed Fischer’s 15-month checkup.

Brad: Oh yea. I didn’t even think of that.

Me: I feel awful. I’m such a horrible mom.

Brad: Yea, that stinks.

Me: We owe the clinic money.

Brad: We can pay them after Friday.

Me. Yea.

I can guarantee you that he never thought about it again. I’ve been stressing over it for days. This is the Mommy Guilt I carry. It’s heavy, and emotional, and sometimes it’s all consuming. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe when I start to let the guilt creep in. Sometimes, I feel like I would be better off not trying at all, rather than try and not accomplish what I need to. Did pinterest make me this way? Was it facebook? Maybe it was all the little old ladies at my church telling me to “cherish every moment”? I can’t put my finger on it, but I know it’s real and I know I have to let it go. Wait. Frozen. I knew there was something I missed! I feel awful because Porter asked to watch that movie this weekend, and I told him we would. I guess the swimming and popsicles and movie time with mom and dad and real popcorn had us too busy for Frozen. Oh, I’m a terrible mom. 

 

I’m making a list. I’m making a list of all the things I feel guilty about. Some are relevant, and validated. Some are completely ridiculous and should probably land me in a padded room. Either way, I’m making a list because I feel like airing it out will do some good. And maybe, just maybe, you can identify. And at least we can know that we’re not alone. 

I’m on my phone too often.

Fischer goes to sleep with a cup of milk.

My kids eat sugar.

My kids eat carbs all the time.

My kids rarely eat anything except spaghettiohs and pb&j, three meals a day. Two meals a day.

Sometimes they don’t eat breakfast.

The planter in the front of my house is without flowers.

We leave our trashcan by the road overnight at times.

We have laundry piled up for days. Most of it is clean. 

My sink has perpetual dirty dishes.

I haven’t ordered school supplies yet.

I haven’t planned a baby shower for my friend yet.

I forgot to send thank you cards for Fischer’s baby shower. And Porter’s. and probably my wedding gifts.

I don’t pray enough.

I don’t read my bible enough.

I don’t always set a good example.

I don’t check in with my friends enough.

Sometimes I don’t answer the phone when my friends call.

I work when I’m at home.

I do family stuff when I’m at work.

I say no too often.

I say yes too often.

I don’t make enough money.

I am not organized enough.

We have unfinished projects at home.

We have a broken window on the back porch.

Our inspection sticker is expired.

Our windshield is cracked.

The cars need to be cleaned out.

My wallet needs to be cleaned out.

The boys need a dentist appointment.

Porter’s eyes could be bad.

Porter needs a haircut.

Brad needs a haircut.

I should cook at home more often.

I should drink less coke.

I should eat less.

I should work out more.

I should drink more water.

I should clean out our closets.

I should waste less electricity.

I throw away too much food.

Literally, this list could go on infinitely. I can find a million things to feel guilty about, by no stretch of the imagination. I should stress out less and relax more, but there I go again, telling myself what I “should” do. I can’t stop. It’s just this panicky, fear-stricken, chill-inducing yucky feeling that permanently rests in the bottom of my gut. I can’t shake it. I can’t drink it away. I can’t exercise it away. I can’t even put it down when I’m asleep. It’s there. For good. 

So, my guilt is definitely not something that I can cure on my own. I can’t even turn to family and friends to help me escape, because then I’ll just feel guilty about being a burden. But there is one person who can make it all better. This person keeps nudging me, even as I’m writing this list, saying that I already know the solution. My solution is My God. My Savior and Lord keeps reminding me, ever so softly, gently, that I AM HIS AND I AM ENOUGH. 

There. That’s it. That’s all I have to say. All the guilt, all the pain, all the shortcomings and insufficiencies can be wrapped up and snuffed out with just one thought, one claim, one triumph. My God is bigger, my God is stronger, my God is higher than any other. He’s better than my own self-loathing and better than the best of punches I can throw at my own face. He’s better than any workout program, development strategy, and even better than the most perfect Mommy and wife. He is ENOUGH and through Him, so am I.

So today, fellow mommies struggling with Mommy Guilt, let’s stop the bashing. Let’s put down our boxing gloves and together admit that we are not sufficient. None of us are perfect, and honestly, how boring would that be? If we all paid our clinic bills on time, some poor girl in the collections office would be jobless. We are never going to be footloose and guilt-free, but we can be REDEEMED, and today, I’m resting in that promise. 

Resting in the assurance that I am enough. I am the Mommy that God chose for Porter and Fischer. They were created in His image, and are perfectly wonderful. I am the wife that God chose for Bradley. I am the perfectly cut puzzle piece that fills the whole in my extended family picture. I am a good friend, with excellent listening and relating skills. I am enough.