*Author’s Note*
I started this essay in January, before life came to a shattering halt. It feels strange putting my words out into the world right now, as if any trivial offering I bring to the table can stand up to a pandemic. My mental energy is maxed out, and I need a pep talk every hour, on the hour to get through these days. I don't want to read anymore tips for “homeschooling” or lists of easy-to-assemble busy bags for my toddler. I don’t want to see any more color-coded schedules to organize my day, and I really need to take a break from opening my news app. Maybe you feel the same. So this is my offering—an essay written in January, when the new year was unfolding, feeling fresh and hopeful. The year doesn’t feel so fresh and hopeful anymore. But maybe, this essay, this mantra, that came to me so clearly two months ago was meant for right now.
When I was preparing for our first baby, the message of motherhood that came alongside each receiving blanket, burp rag, and precious little onesie was clear: get ready to be a mess. All. The. Time. And since we’re women, let’s say “hot mess” because that sounds sexier. But either way, you will be exhausted, overwhelmed, unshowered, and barely getting by for the next eighteen years. Welcome to motherhood.
I was 35 weeks pregnant, and sitting in our quiet condo on a summer morning. Stephen was at work, and I had a few more weeks until the school year started up again. This doom-heavy message of motherhood wasn’t sitting well with me; I took out my journal and began asking the Lord all the questions that weighed on my heart.
Does it have to be exhausting, Lord—like always exhausting? Is it true that I won’t ever sleep again? That’s just part of it, huh? What about the overwhelming stress? Is this the life all moms are destined for or is it possible to be a mom who isn’t frazzled and tired and frustrated? Can I ask for motherhood to be enjoyable and energizing? Can I ask for my children to sleep through the night and take naps or is that taking the easy way out?
For the past seven years, that journal entry kept rolling around in my unshowered head.
Every time another #hotmessmom meme came across my feed, I could relate. The messy bun, stained clothing, and crying children all drowning in a pile of laundry and Goldfish crackers. I would laugh, comforted by the solidarity, and little by little that mantra became my life.
*****
I’ve noticed two extremes in motherhood.
One side of the pendulum is constantly judging. These are the glaring eyes and pursed lips shot my way when my child throws his beanbag at another child during storytime. This is the shocked grandmother in the grocery story who wants to know why my toddler isn’t wearing a hat in such cold weather. This is the embarrassment that silences me in conversations about organic versus non-organic food when my budget is stretched as thin as it can go. This voice tells me I’m not doing enough. I hate that voice.
But travel far enough the opposite direction, and I’ll meet the other extreme, the voice that says moms are a mess, kids are a mess, and motherhood is a shitshow to survive—“but hang in there, mama, because you’re doing great!” (Really? This is what great looks like?) This is a well-intended voice, pushing against the expectation of perfection, but simultaneously landing moms in a pile of helplessness.
It is clear to me how both extremes of this pendulum are toxic. I don’t want to be held to that standard of perfection, but I also don’t want to sink down to a level that tells me it’s ok to shower once a week, explode at my children when they can't find their shoes, and shovel back the discarded scraps of their lunch for my midday sustenance. I want the bar to be above surviving, and I don’t want “hot mess mama” to be my final grade.
Last fall, an unsettling cloud began pressing down on me. Something wasn’t right; I felt like motherhood just wasn’t how it was meant to be. My first response was failure. If motherhood wasn’t on track, obviously it meant I was doing something wrong that needed to be changed. Immediately I began brainstorming new routines and systems that might “fix” motherhood. After all, new routines and systems are my favorite solution to all problems.
But as soon as those color-coded charts and checklists started dancing through my mind, I knew that wasn’t what I needed. Doing something differently wasn’t going to be my answer. I’d already tried that. Instead, I needed to change my thinking—to uncover the lies about motherhood that slowed me down and stole my joy.
I knew the answer; it was the lie that began creeping in before I even held my first baby. The lie that told me the only way to do motherhood is to be a mess—a barely-getting-by, caffeine-consuming, chaotic, hot mess.
*****
We left our kids and husbands at home for the sake of girl talk and Taco Tuesday. I'm not sure which one we needed more. By the time the waiter brought our third basket of chips, the conversation turned down the path it often goes when moms are together—the challenge and exhaustion of motherhood. The conversation volleyed between who had the most laundry to catch up on and whose clothing was covered in the most spit up. We one-upped each other with stories of puke and picky eaters, competing as if a prize would be handed out for whose kid is the worst sleeper.
I noticed one of my friends laughing along but not really contributing.
“Do you think it’s normal not to feel like a mess all the time?” She turned her voice down to a whisper like she was about to confess a secret porn addiction. “I feel uncomfortable even saying this out loud, but I really like being a mom. And sometimes it’s hard to relate to moms who always complain about being a mess.” She spoke these foreign words with a sense of guilt, even wincing as if the rest of us might pour salsa on her head before throwing her out of the restaurant and banning her from all future Taco Tuesday girl nights.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a mom say that out loud before,” I responded. It was both foreign and refreshing. But why not? I thought. Why don’t we ever say that we like being moms? And why are we always complaining about being a mess?
Driving home from dinner, I thought about my pathetic contributions to the conversation earlier in the night. At one point, I had bragged about my children eating mac-n-cheese two days in a row (which happened once), and I got some good laughs when I talked about our baseboards that hadn’t been cleaned since we moved into that house in 2016 (which wasn’t even true). I had mentioned a doozy of a toddler tantrum (but purposely left out the part where I talked my son through his meltdown and came out on the other side with apologies and forgiveness).
Why didn’t I talk about the good? Why did I undersell myself? And why did that feel so normal?
*****
The messages I whispered to myself those first seven years ultimately sank deep into my mind and heart and took up residency. My pattern of nodding along to the frustrations and insanity of motherhood grew roots and even the jokes meant to unite mothers in laughter and solidarity took off their shoes and overstayed their welcome. That message was funny for a while, and maybe I even needed it. I needed to know perfection wasn’t the standard. I needed to know that other moms felt the struggle that I was feeling.
But I am ready for a new message—one that tells me I’m capable of doing this well.
A hot mess day doesn’t mean I’m a hot mess mom. I don’t survive on coffee and wine. I'm not constantly undone by tantrums and busy days. I’m not fragile or hysterical or stuck in a never-ending game of Whack-A-Mole. I can balance the mental load of motherhood and homemaking. I can think ahead. I can plan and juggle and delegate and decide because this is hard, but not impossible. I am not a hot mess mom. I am capable, creative, organized, flexible, and competent.
And that is my new battle cry.
(Do you think I can make that a trending hashtag?)
This post was written as part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to read the next post in this series "All Things New".
