Why We Aren’t Failing Our Kids, Even When We Think That We’re Failing Our Kids
When my daughter was born I wanted to never fail her. I felt her innate perfection as we basked in her fresh from heaven glow. I wanted to witness every magical moment, every transformation, every milestone. I didn’t want to dampen the light in her soul with any negativity or harshness or to provide her any disappointment.
The reality sets in, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. You accidentally nick a tiny finger as you’re clipping their nails, a just as you breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the tenth one. The baby monitor malfunctions, leaving you to realize that they cried for longer than you anticipated. They start walking, running and jumping- a whole new the world where you camouflage never catch every fall or stop every bump. Every cry feels like your own failure echoed back. Verbal leaps and bounds move from being amazing to increasingly taxing. You go from hanging on every word to zoning out while your brain searches for quiet (something you swore you’d never do.)
Eventually and then in a blink, you find yourself in the tween years and beyond, wondering how you’re not going to forever mess things up.
Your long days and years of motherhood leave you grappling with your own shortcomings, your limitations, and your continued desire to do a good job. Not to mention it would be nice to take care of yourself just enough to get by without being selfish.
Your hopeful longings of perfection become a distant, distant memory. You hope now just to hang on, and to try not to fall off the ride. Enjoy it if you can, and hopefully not loose your cookies all over the place.
But did you ever pause for a moment and think that is exactly what is supposed to happen? The bubble of perfection is not meant to last forever. If it did, how would your child ever learn or grow? Or even, how would you?
As parents we give our kids so much time and attention, make so many meals and snacks, read so many books, arrange so many appointments and smother them with kisses. But if you’re anything like me, when it’s time to close our eyes at night, we seem to only think of the places that we failed that day. The times we maybe weren’t there or made a mistake, the words that came out sharper than we intended, our energy was zapped or distracted, the book we didn’t finish, the forgotten sandwiches. We wonder if we did enough, loved well enough, were good enough. We are not only our own worst critic, we are relentless.
No matter how many needs I fill or boxes I check, it’s the ones that I missed that scream from the page each day. But you know what I keep learning? Even when we think that we’re failing our kids, we aren’t really failing our kids.
We’re still here and we’re still trying.
Those failures of mine aren’t really failures. They are opportunities for all of us. When I can’t give them one on one, I realize that I am giving them something else- independence and room for creativity. When I forget something and disappoint them, I am giving them the practice of resilience.
This is not a hall pass to get it all wrong or do a terrible job. This is just to understand with our assignment as parents is to begin with.
Maybe always doing what’s right for our kids isn’t always doing something right for our kids. (You might want to reread that sentence again.) There are probably a hundred thousand examples one could think up, but you can probably think of five right off the top of your head. They probably all happened just yesterday, or even by nine am. The help you have without a second thought to the manners that were missing. The finding of lost things without letting them really try.
I’ll be the first to admit that old habits die hard. I am a nanny by trade (for over 20 years!) My performance was based on doing a good job, on being great, at least as I saw it. I was one of the “lawnmower” types, clearing a path to make everything smooth and easy. Until a teacher kindly suggest that I might do otherwise- maybe talk through problems more, show some struggles, and give the kids the chance to learn what happens and how to figure out what to do next.
In taking my job so seriously, I had stopped allowing for error. I realized that my perfection wasn’t only not necessary, it was perhaps harmful. I was missing an opportunity for their growth in some ways. I learned to then both accept and TO BE less perfect. It was better for all of us.
Yet when I started again, and my personal motherhood journey began, I was handed, like any parent, a whole new set of chances to learn, try, and fail, again and again and again. So it is with parenting- you are always finding areas for continued improvement, even when you’re not looking for them.
Our “failings” are meant to not only teach us, but to lead us, both parents and kids alike. They are meant to show us new paths, to lead us to greater growth and to stretch us beyond our own current limitations. The challenges of parenthood and life alike are meant to connect us more fully, not only with who we are, but with who we could be. Each time I try to achieve parenting “perfection” maybe I am denying them a bit of their own chance for growth?
As we all know, mom guilt is ridiculous and one of the biggest crocks of you-know- what around. We’re on the downtail of the Pinterest mom, but we’re still on the upswing of the Intentional mom. We are trying to let go of the practice of perfectionism, but we can’t seem to let go of the need to be downright miraculous. Are you ready for a tough truth? (Deep breath.) When we spiral into mom guilt, we are actually making it more about us and less about them. (Exhale.)
As parents maybe it’s time to stop looking at our kids to define our success and value and start letting them rise into theirs. The times that we fail or disappoint our children are meant to allow them the opportunity to do this very important thing— It allows them to connect with their own abilities, with what is divinely available to them. It allows them to see what is ‘impossibly possible’ for their own lives.
Even if that is made possible because I myself am imperfect. (Talk about a slice of humble pie.)
If I truly want my child to rise to their highest potential and loftiest, most beautiful life, than I must be neither the shining star, nor the lowly footstool.
Being a parent isn’t about reaching a state of perfection and sharing it with tiny humans. It’s about walking alongside another person, a beautiful member of your own little family, and being both amazed and humbled as we go. It’s about offering help and guidance when necessary, and learning along with them on the way.
Can we consider perfectionism (and the subsequent lying guilt) for the foe that it is, not the friend. What would a friend say, after all, butter truth of both what it (“You are not perfect but you are more than good enough, just as you are!”). And also, the truth of what is becoming (”Keep going, I’m so excited for what is ahead!”)
As a mom you want to love them well. I believe that is part of the job. That love is invaluable, the guidance is necessary. But I have stopped believing that being perfect is what I am meant to do .
We believe a lie when we think that they need our perfection. It’s a lie that I believed for a long time, one that leaves little room for the best things- growth, adventure, and real true love.
They just need us. And the kind of love that leaves room for things beyond itself.
Maybe that is parenthood at its finest. NOT a perfect display of love, but a perfect display of what it means to be loved, in spite of our imperfections. To live in love that keeps trying, even when it fails. To show our kids what’s possible when you love imperfectly, but keep trying. When you connect to the divine kind of love that picks up where we leave off.
The perfect love that never expected us to be perfect first, or ever on our own.
The next time that you feel like you’ve failed, can you just release it? Release the judgement of yourself. Release the attachment to what success looks like in your own terms. Release both your child and yourself to the infinite possibility of love that’s Divine and that fills in the blanks.
Walking forward, one hopeful, stumbling, fumbling step forward at a time. As a parent and a fellow human, humbly, finding both ourselves and one another along the way. ❤️
