Ten years ago, I discovered I was expecting my first child. The last decade has been a rollercoaster filled with highs and lows, challenges and joys, and unexpected twists. According to various “parenting experts,” I’ve made countless errors along the way.
As a new mom, my so-called mistakes felt enormous, especially when I decided to stop breastfeeding early. Let me clarify: I wholeheartedly support breastfeeding and believe women should choose how, when, and where to do it. For many mothers, breastfeeding enhances their bond with their child, but for me, it was a struggle. I managed to breastfeed my first son for a challenging six weeks and despised every moment. Instead of feeling connected, I often felt frustrated, which only deepened my postpartum depression and complicated the bonding experience.
Quitting breastfeeding came with a heavy dose of shame and guilt. Society often tells us that we must prioritize our children’s needs over our own, promoting the idea that “breast is best.” While that’s true for many, it simply wasn’t the case for me and my son. Eventually, I learned to accept my decision, and by the time my second son came along three years later, I was completely certain I wouldn’t breastfeed at all.
Do I admire mothers who find joy in breastfeeding? Absolutely! But, as Amy Poehler wisely said, “Good for you! Not for me.” I broke other “rules” too. Recognizing my need for sleep, I sleep-trained my son when he was just a few months old, sticking to a strict nap schedule. I sometimes rushed home to ensure he had a proper nap in his crib rather than a brief car ride snooze.
I also took countless photos during his first year. While some might see this as a distraction from parenting (and many mindful parenting advocates would likely frown upon it), capturing those moments actually helped me cope with postpartum depression. It gave me a much-needed escape from my thoughts as I worked on healing.
Now that those baby years are behind me, my “missteps” have changed. I occasionally curse in front of my kids, believing that knowing when to swear is a skill worth learning. My 9-year-old still sleeps with his beloved blanket and sucks his thumb, as I think that peaceful nights are worth the potential orthodontic bills. And while I used to take hundreds of photos, I sometimes worry that I’m not capturing enough family memories. Yet I remind myself that I’m cherishing everyday moments in my own way.
Perhaps what I struggle with the most—if I’m to trust the endless opinions from parenting bloggers—is that I yell. I raise my voice when my kids bicker, when they dawdle while getting ready, and yes, even when they won’t stop yelling. I know that yelling isn’t ideal, and I understand that there are better ways to respond. I don’t need to search far to find “experts” who make me feel bad about it. But I’m at a point in my life where guilt is overwhelming enough. Yes, I yell, but I also apologize and discuss it with my kids, teaching them that parents have feelings too.
Nowadays, it seems everyone has a view on the “proper” way to raise children, bombarding us with conflicting advice from doctors, psychologists, and fellow parents alike. This avalanche of suggestions can feel like a judgment, making it hard not to succumb to guilt over our choices. What one parent sees as a mistake, another may see as a victory. There are countless ways to love and care for our children.
Over the past decade, I’ve certainly made my fair share of “mistakes.” Haven’t we all? I know I’ll continue to stumble as long as I’m a parent. But maybe regret shouldn’t be one of those stumbles. Perhaps these so-called mistakes are simply part of the journey, teaching us to trust ourselves and enjoy the beautiful chaos of parenting.
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Summary
In reflecting on my parenting journey, I’ve come to realize that what I once saw as mistakes are simply part of the process. From my choices surrounding breastfeeding to the inevitable yelling, these experiences have shaped who I am as a mother. Embracing the chaos and learning from each misstep allows me to appreciate the beauty of this wild ride.