Meredith’s Musings | Balancing Act

article by MEREDITH MCKINNIE

Mothers are superheroes. I dislike that phrase – and feel free to insert any other title like teacher, nurse, etc. A superhero implies having strength beyond the norm, to supersede the possible to channel the impossible. Labeling someone a superhero, while it may feel like honoring someone, raises the bar of what’s expected, yet skirts the reality of difficulty. Mothers shouldn’t have to be superheroes – they’re only human, fumbling through parenthood, figuring it out one mistake at a time. Social media has exacerbated the impulses to compare ourselves to others and project our best selves. When I scroll past the perfectly-dressed children on a bunny’s lap, one child mid-laughter and the other gazing adoringly at the stranger in the rabbit suit, I admire not only the superb photography skills, but that someone in charge of those children found the time to snap the shot. Motherhood is hard, humbling, never ending, and now we are expected to showcase perfection – when we all are hip to the ruse.

I have a list of words that make me cringe – balance currently tops the list. What is balance? When I think of balance, I picture someone on a tightrope, paralyzed with fear, trying desperately not to fall, and hardly moving – not necessarily a state to strive for. But we hear it all the time. How do you balance it all? I work multiple jobs, raise two toddlers, and am studying for a terminal degree. I don’t balance anything. I barely keep my head above water, and regularly choke on the waves that smash me in the face. I excel often, and I fail even more often. When my mothering life looks together, my professional life is being ignored. When I focus on writing, my kids are locked out of the bedroom. Mothering is not juggling as much as focusing on one ball at a time – and frequently the others hit the ground.

When we focus on maintaining an image, leaping over a socially constructed bar, appearing perfect with chaos blurred in the background, we are lying to ourselves and others. Frequently, people tell me how beautiful my girls are, how well-mannered they seem, what a good job I’m doing raising them. I have a stock response – “It’s a lot.” It emerges from my lips before I even think about it – the vague reference laced with nuance. My oldest just turned five, and yes, motherhood is wonderful, but most days it is sad, maddening, exhausting – fill in the adjective for depleted. In a world filled with mothers, I often feel alone, isolated, and frustrated no one told me how hard it would be. Perhaps they did, and I didn’t pay attention. Perhaps I didn’t want to know. Or perhaps I digested the pictures of perfection and sacrifice framed in happiness and assumed it would be easy. Perhaps aware of how many struggle to have children, it felt selfish to feel anything less than grateful all the time. But the truth is, we have to share the hard. We have to show the chaos. Those sentiments can’t remain in hushed conversations with other mothers drowning in the daily.

My husband mothers more than I do. And he fathers too. If my girls identified a primary parent, most days, they would look toward him. I am often working, or studying, or reading to remain sane and take care of myself. I know that I have to prioritize myself so I can better prioritize them. And honestly, I don’t prioritize them enough, but I don’t prioritize me enough either. I lead with emotion – frustrations manifest quickly and if acknowledged, just as swiftly dissipate. I boil over daily – patience is not my virtue. My oldest mirrors this reaction. Balance is never top of mind, and frankly, sounds like a cheap, tenuous destination. Life is hard enough without having enough footing underneath us. I post pictures and videos of my girls on social media often – it’s the only window through which distant friends and family glimpse their little lives. So often people comment on my mothering – what a good mother I am, no doubt well-intentioned compliments. I cringe at the descriptors. I’m just their mother – not good or bad – just a mother. I love them, and some days I practice love better than others.