As the first day of school arrived, I wanted to create a sweet memory for my kids. I woke up early, eager to fry bacon, warm croissants, and slice fresh fruit. My goal was to have everything ready so that I could enjoy a cup of coffee before our sleepy children made their way downstairs, excited yet nervous for the new school year.
I envisioned a lovely breakfast that would fill them with love and confidence as they drizzled honey on their flaky croissants. We would discuss their new classes and friends, and I imagined sticky kisses and warm hugs as they thanked me for making their morning special. But, as it often does, reality kicked in.
Two of my kids overslept, there was chaos over who used up the hot water, and one child had a little accident. The bacon was undercooked, the croissants were burnt, and the fruit was ignored. The morning quickly spiraled into complete chaos.
Two weeks before school started, we had just moved, and I hadn’t informed the school about our transportation needs or located the bus stop. I was relying on my 10-year-old, Emily, who confidently claimed she knew where to catch the bus. I kissed our three elementary-aged kids goodbye and finally managed to brew that cup of coffee.
Just as I added my sweetener, Emily burst through the door in a panic—the bus hadn’t stopped. It was already almost time for school to start.
Barefoot and braless, I quickly gathered my two youngest daughters and urged the older ones to hurry to our van. I couldn’t help but grill Emily with questions about how she had messed this up on the first day of school. My frustration mixed with her anxiety led to tears.
Miraculously, we made it to the school just in time, but I could feel the tension in my shoulders and the tight grip on the steering wheel. I realized I had failed to capture a single photo of the kids. My mind was too frazzled to even think about taking pictures.
Within an hour, social media would be flooded with perfectly staged photos of well-dressed kids, proudly holding chalkboards announcing the start of a new school year. In a moment of vulnerability, I posted a humorous photo of myself, prescription bottle of Xanax in hand, captioning it with my morning mishap.
While many responded positively, thanking me for keeping it real, others unleashed harsh judgments. I was labeled an “addict” and a “bad mom.” One commenter even suggested that I shouldn’t drive my kids while on medication, assuming my experience mirrored hers. Another, who later deleted her comment, expressed pity for my “innocent children” being raised by someone she deemed weak.
I wondered if those same people felt compelled to comment on mothers enjoying wine at 2 PM. There’s a clear double standard at play: while drinking is often celebrated, those on medication face scrutiny. Moms who unwind with a glass of wine are seen as relatable, while those managing their mental health with prescriptions are stigmatized.
This isn’t about starting a “mommy war.” Rather, it’s about recognizing that relying on medication is not a sign of weakness, but a step toward being a better parent. The truth is, I’m a more effective mom because I take care of my mental health.
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In summary, it’s time to challenge the stigma against medicated moms and appreciate the nuances of parenthood—where taking care of oneself can lead to better parenting overall.