Throughout my journey of motherhood, there hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t questioned whether the love, lessons, and memories I’m creating for my children are enough. I constantly find myself striving for improvement, thinking that I must always be better. While this desire for growth isn’t inherently negative, I often realize that my perfectionism is rooted deeply within me; I frequently feel inadequate for everyone around me.
There’s always this nagging fear that one day my kids will come to me and express how my shortcomings have affected them. My upbringing taught me that families can often hurt each other deeply; they endure pain and then drift apart to find some air. My experience has led me to believe that adults often stay together only to inflict further hurt. This is the harsh reality I learned about family dynamics.
Having come from a fractured childhood, I am determined to break that cycle for my own kids. I’ve put in the effort to seek therapy to mend the scars of my past, though some wounds still linger. I strive to stop the cycle of dysfunction, knowing that caring for myself—even when it feels selfish—ultimately benefits them. They deserve to witness a mother who values herself.
I remind myself that I am not perfect; in fact, I am far from it. I set boundaries for my children, treating them how I wished to be treated as a child. I aim to be patient, fair, and to avoid raising my voice. I never tell them they lack the ability to succeed at something. Instead, I engage in open conversations with them, consistently showing my trust and love. Every day, I make it a point to express my love for them.
But I wonder, will they remember the joyful moments, or only the times when I lost my composure over trivial matters? More importantly, will they forgive me for my human flaws? I hope so. It’s essential for children to observe their parents apologizing, whether to each other or themselves, and I wonder if this lesson will help mend the fractures of my own past. Will my love be enough to overshadow the experiences we might miss out on, or the activities we can’t afford?
I find myself reflecting on my childhood, searching for the silver linings. There’s a delicate balance between the good and the bad, and I believe there must be something of worth within those memories. I remember the sensation of freshly cut grass against my bare legs in the summer sun, the dizzying spins of rolling down a hill, and the songs I sang while jumping rope. I reminisce about the innocent joy of muddy fights, slimy frogs slipping through my fingers, and playful adventures with neighborhood friends in the woods behind my house.
I hold onto memories of banana popsicles that melted too quickly in the heat, sticky fingers from penny candies, and the wind whipping through my hair as I rode my bike up and down the street. Those fragments of my childhood have become my refuge, shielding me from the darker aspects of my past.
“Go play outside,” I say to my kids. “Ride your bike and come back for a treat; I grabbed your favorite.” What I truly mean is, “I love you. Experience the joy of being a child; you deserve it.” I may never have been enough for my parents, but my children are always more than enough for me. That’s the crucial distinction. Now, I must work on believing that I am enough for them and for myself.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is filled with challenges and self-doubt, yet it is also a profound opportunity for growth and love. By valuing ourselves, we pave the way for our children to thrive.
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