No One Cares That You’re a Mom

For most of my life, my identity was very much wrapped up in what I could accomplish. My own personal goal was to get as close to perfection as possible in the areas I felt like I was strongest. This is going to sound exceptionally braggy, but it’s necessary for background so I’m going to push through the discomfort and talk about it for a second. I’ve never made a B in a class in my life. I graduated high school tied for Salutatorian (don’t get me started) and got a full academic scholarship to Auburn, an out-of-state university since I’m from Florida. I graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in three years because of the credits from AP classes that I took in high school and was the graduation marshal for the College of Liberal Arts. School was my zone. I understood what it took to succeed, I made a game plan for each class, and then executed it. I was laser focused on my goal, always. When I began working full time after college, I translated those skills to whatever job I had. Understand the expectations, learn the system, execute. 

Then I had a baby. You can probably guess where this is headed. 

As it turns out, being a stay at home mom is extremely hard, but not in the way I thought it would be. I thought it would be hard to take care of a baby while also keeping the house clean and tidy, keeping up with the dishes and laundry, preparing food, and finding time to take care of myself somewhere in there. What I didn’t expect was the emotional toll of not working outside the home. Even though I was never truly passionate about any of the jobs I had after college, I found purpose and fulfillment in whatever job I was doing because I like working. I liked learning and mastering a skill. I liked earning a paycheck. I liked the structure and routine that a nine to five provides. I liked the feeling of accomplishment after a busy, full day of work. While I was working, I understood what was expected of me. I liked having standards by which I could measure my progress and success. I knew when I was doing well and when there were areas I could improve. I liked having coworkers to socialize and/or commiserate with. 

Being a stay at home mom is exactly the opposite of that. There is no handbook or job description, and certainly no paycheck. There are no set work hours or scheduled breaks. The work day is never actually over, it just blends into the next one. There is no measuring stick or set of standards to compare yourself to, so there’s no way to know if you’re doing a good job. And your boss is incredibly needy, but can’t articulate exactly what it is they want (obviously, this part got better). This may be the hardest part for me. How am I supposed to feel good about myself if no one is handing me A’s or stellar performance reviews? No one cares that I’m a mom. 

It is also very lonely. Even with a playdate or errands, the vast majority of my day is spent by myself with my daughter. I didn’t anticipate struggling with that part. I’m an introvert and a homebody by nature. I’ve always enjoyed quiet evenings and weekends at home. But after becoming a stay at home mom, my refuge started to feel like my prison. Especially when my daughter was younger, getting out of the house felt like too much work. I was quickly overwhelmed trying to figure out the exact window of time between naps, feedings, pumping, and housework, not to mention collecting and packing up everything we could possibly need for a particular outing. And getting myself ready? That’s a joke. If I’d showered sometime in the last three days and my clothes covered all the naughty bits, I was presentable enough to leave the house. Single me would be appalled at how I now regularly go out in public. For the first year of my daughter’s life, my daily uniform was mostly pajamas, baggy t-shirts, old tank tops, and exercise shorts or yoga pants. What was the point of putting on real clothes if I probably wasn’t even leaving the house? 

All of this was incredibly overwhelming for a perfectionist. I dreaded the simple question “So what do you do?” when I met someone new. I was always secretly relieved that I could tack on “and I also work part time as a communications editor” to the end of “I’m a stay at home mom.” I was tired, frazzled, and second guessing myself constantly, but also crazy bored. Turns out, tiny babies aren’t that entertaining. My part time job is a fantastic gig, and I’m extremely grateful for it, but it doesn’t require me to leave my couch or even wear pants. I needed a goal. Preferably something with measurable results. 

So I set standards for myself, since no one else was doing it for me. I keep my baby fed, clean, clothed, and somewhat entertained. I kept the house tidy, the laundry washed, dried, folded and put away, the countertops clean, the dishes done, the flat surfaces dusted, the floors vacuumed, the pantry and fridge stocked, the appointments scheduled, the food cooked (usually overcooked, I’m weird about meat). I started lifting weights and actually tracking my workouts and progress in a notebook. I structured my day so that we got out of the house first thing in the morning. I put myself out there a little more in my community. I started writing for this blog, but I also joined a book club, applied for and was accepted into a leadership program, and got on the board of our HOA. 

No one cares that I’m a mom. No one is handing out grades or trophies for “Best Improvised Snack when Your Kid is Screaming in the Doctor’s Office” and “Fastest Diapering Job on a Flailing Toddler.” I fight the perfectionist fight every day, and the need for encouragement or recognition of my work. But I’ve found that the more I put myself out there with new things and given of myself in ways I haven’t before, the less I feel the need for a hard and fast measuring stick of my “performance.” I feel more balanced now. I’ve diversified my activity portfolio, so when I’m slacking in one area, my entire sense of self is less affected. I want my daughter to see her mom taking care of herself as well as taking care of the house and family and community. And as long as she cares that I’m her mom, that’s good enough for me.