There hasn’t been a moment in my parenting adventure where I’ve felt confident that the love, memories, and experiences I’m giving my children are sufficient. I always strive to be better, to improve myself. And while that seems like a noble goal, I often find that this pursuit of perfection is rooted in my own insecurities. I frequently question whether I am enough for anyone, especially my kids.
A nagging fear lingers that one day my children might come to me and say, “You broke us.” My upbringing taught me that families often endure one another but can also fall apart, needing space to heal. As adults, we might stay together, but we tend to hurt one another more often than not. That’s the only family dynamic I truly understand.
Having grown up in a fractured environment, I am determined to break that cycle for my children. So, I work tirelessly on myself. I’ve sought therapy to mend my past wounds, though some still linger. I strive to put an end to the cycle of dysfunction. I remind myself that by caring for my own needs—even when it feels selfish—I am also caring for my kids. They deserve to see a mother who appreciates herself.
I aim to show my children that I’m not perfect—far from it, actually. I establish boundaries, treat them as I wish I had been treated, and practice patience. I try to avoid yelling and never tell them they can’t do something. Communication is key; I talk to them constantly, trust them, and shower them with love every single day.
Will they remember the moments when I lose my patience over trivial things? Will they forgive me for being an imperfect, flawed human? I sincerely hope so.
Kids should witness their parents apologizing—to each other, to themselves, and to them. I wonder if this lesson will be enough to prevent my family’s past from repeating itself. Can love outweigh the lack of big family adventures and the activities we miss out on? I often ponder if all my perceived shortcomings as a parent will overshadow the depth of my love.
Reflecting on my own childhood, I’m searching for the silver lining. There’s a fine line between the good and the bad, and surely, hidden among those shadows, there are moments of value.
I remember the feeling of freshly cut grass on my bare legs during summer days, rolling down the hill in front of our house until I was dizzy. I think of the songs I sang while jumping rope and the joy of playing with marbles and slimy frogs. I recall the sticky fingers from candy and the wind in my hair as I raced down the road. Those memories, the sweet ones, saved me then and continue to save me now from the darker aspects of my past.
“Go outside!” I tell my kids, “Ride your bike and come back for a freezie; I got your favorite!” What I’m really saying is, “I love you. Go enjoy your childhood; you deserve this freedom.”
I may never have been enough for my parents, but for my kids, they are always more than enough. Perhaps that’s the real difference. Now I just need to convince myself that I am enough for them—and for me.
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Summary
This piece explores the complexities of motherhood, the struggle for self-acceptance, and the determination to break the cycle of a broken upbringing for the sake of one’s children. It emphasizes the importance of love, communication, and the small joys of childhood while grappling with the fears of inadequacy.