When I committed to the non-judging of other moms, I meant it.
I just think I might have to cut myself a little bit of slack too. Definitely not conceptually new for me personally, but certainly something mommitment has me thinking about more regularly.
So I might be a perfectionist when it comes to the basis of how I judge my OWN momming skills.
Having an addict as a mother has had a huge impact on the kind of mom that I strive to be to my kids. I have spent the last 13 years as the type of mom who places a high level of importance on consistency. I have always equated being ‘better’ than, as having higher standards for myself and for my own kids. I know better, so I try to do better.
So this means that most of my internal dialogue could (possibly, maybe) sound like that of a perfectionist…
Which means the self-judging, self-critiquing, kind of inner-dialogue that I allow to go on (but actively combat), is pretty hardcore stuff.
This could be because…no one is perfect.
So, it’s like a battle I’ll never win, I know it, but I try anyway because I am resilient.
Or stubborn…or a slow learner… or all of that…
But the bottom line is..
I am truly my own. worst. critic.
I don’t need ya judgment, because I have my own, and it’s more than enough.
One slip up, and I guilt myself all the way to my self-created, fictitious, dog-house for awhile.
Yes it’s ridiculous. And I know it is.
(which is why I know I’m not actually crazy..)
So here’s one recent example the ridiculousnessness:
I was hustling around on a Sunday.
Church, cleaning, cooking, 5 month-old-babying, and trying to be an active part of whatever else was going on that day as far as family/fun/spending time together is concerned.
And then, there was the birthday party.
I gathered up boy #2’s swim stuff.
Trunks, floaties, goggles, flip flops, gift, card, and directions for daddy and him to drive to the party.
Fun times for 6-year-olds, indeed.
Ten minutes after they left, and were too close to the party, and too far away from home…
I remembered the Ninja Turtle Beach towel.
The one I forgot to send with them.
The one in the bathroom, in the stack with the other beach towels.
(insert silent panicking here)
The one that wasn’t with boy #2.
The one that was going to save said boy from dying of embarrassment when he showed up without a licensed character towel.
The one he had to have with him because everyone else would have theirs and he wouldn’t have his and he would feel left out, or different, or less than or….
Whatever would he do?
I proceeded to beat myself to a slow death before my brain actually imploded.
Next, I sent a sad emoji text to the husband and made sure I added in that I was a terrible mom.
How in the world could I have forgotten the towel when they were going to an indoor swim party?
and then, ten minutes later I allowed my logic to creep back into my emotionally charged, unraveling, head
and allowed myself to consider the very real possibility that boy #2 probably won’t care…at all.
Not one bit.
He won’t be mortified.
He will roll with it and move on.
He probably won’t even notice, and ultimately, he’ll have a blast with his besties -anyway.
The next text that I sent (around 15 minutes later) said –
“Meh, he’ll live. Have a good time!”
and guess what. I sent him.
He was on-time. He had a gift.
He was clean, fed, healthy, and happy.
I will just call it an overall momming win.
So why. Why is my first inclination to judge and bash myself over something so seemingly small and silly? Really? I picked myself apart over a towel.
No. I picked myself apart for making a mistake.
The truth is…
In no way does my forgetting a towel define or reflect what kind of mom I am as a whole.
It just doesn’t. Unless I believe it does, and I don’t.
So the next time you forget the Ninja Turtle towel,
remind yourself that you don’t always have to be perfect.
It’s great to be as consistent as you can be. It is wonderful to have high standards for yourself, and to have goals, to strive to be better, and to not make excuses.
On the other hand, it is great to remember that we aren’t perfect people.
We all fall short, we all make mistakes, we slip up, we forget.
We can’t allow our mistakes to define who we are, because they aren’t the who of what makes us who we are.
Unless you allow them to.
And you shouldn’t.