The Sound of a Mother Drowning

Why is there so much pressure on mothers
to be the best, to hold it together
to raise perfect little humans, as if perfect were proof of love?

It feels suffocating-
like I’m slipping below the surface,
trying to tread water,
in a sea of everyone’s highlight reels,
struggling to maintain calm and order
while my lungs fill with expectations of me.

I want to scream,
but there is no sound,
it’s swallowed by the water,
by the weight of perfection.

Do I want to be heard?
Because to be heard would mean to be seen,
and if I’m seen, they’ll know

I’m not perfect.
I’m overwhelmed.
I’m a mess.
and isn’t that what society has taught us to hide?

A story is shared among mothers; it is quiet and moves in the shadows. It is waiting, watching, and judging. It is the story society whispers to us—the ideal of perfection.

It is not the elephant in the room; it is the room—the backdrop of every conversation, glance, and expectation of a woman, mother, and friend. It moves among us like air, shaping our next breath and sentence. It is the backdrop of our lives: the wallpaper in our kitchen, the pictures hanging in the nursery, the rewind button in our minds that plays every imperfection on a loop, the silence that hums so loud it fills the room.

Perfectionism was planted in us from the time we were little girls. Mothers are expected to follow those unspoken rules: being emotionally available, contributing financially, participating in PTO, volunteering for all school activities, nurturing, being patient, organized, preparing organic home-cooked meals, and maintaining friendships, marriage, and self-care, all while keeping the house spotless.

Our generation of mothers is drowning in social media reels that amplify the “perfect mom” narrative.  Each reel, post, and picture quietly hints that someone else is doing it better. But in chasing that illusion, we forget that our children never asked for perfection: they’ve only asked for our presence.

We are the ones who carry the weight of our children’s everything—their behavior, happiness, sadness, social standing, and emotional health.  Society has made us believe that their every triumph or stumble is tied to our worth. If they falter, we have failed.

But motherhood is a love so fierce and full that fear grows beside it, rooting itself in the same soil, intertwining until love and fear become indistinguishable.

We chase perfectionism out of love and fear, to keep our children safe, but our children need our laughter, truth, and presence. Our children need to see our mistakes and our cracks. Those cracks aren’t failures; they are where love seeps through to our children.

My love for them doesn’t ask to be seen by society; it simply exists, vast and quiet.

They are the essence of me.

They are my beginning, middle, and end, and the story that keeps going, even after I’m gone. 

To all the messy, willy-nilly, loud, and imperfect mothers, this one is for you.

• Long before I became CJ, Cameron, and Connor's mother, I carried a fear that I would never experience their love. I had an abortion in my early 20s and believed I was disqualified from motherhood because I made an imperfect decision. 
• Sometimes, I let the boys play on their tablets all day so that I can read a good book. 
• They run around the neighborhood playing with friends, and 90% of the time, I'm not sure where they are. 
• My boys eat processed food.
• Sometimes I feed them TV dinners because I’m exhausted, and the thought of cooking makes me cry.
• Since Halloween, they’ve eaten a pound of candy a day.
• I try to make them do chores. That usually lasts a good week before I give up. 
• They fight, constantly.
• They call each other ugly, big dummy, big-back, and no matter how much I tell them to be nice to each other, they just go harder.
• They tell me they want a new mom.
• They leave their shoes, socks and sometimes even underwear in the middle of the kitchen floor. 
• They pick out their own outfits, even when I want to cringe.
• Sometimes they go seven days without a shower.
• Brushing their teeth is like going to battle in the Colosseum.
• They don’t want me to chaperone because I’m embarrassing.
• I ask too many questions. 
• I’m always late for whatever activity they have going on. 
• I always forget something.
• I have no patience.
• I yell.
• I get annoyed.
• I swear. 

BUT

• They call me at 4:45 pm every day and ask how long until I get home. 
• They beg me to lie with them at bedtime every night because they can't sleep unless I lie next to each of them for at least 5 minutes. 
• They stick up for their friends. 
• They are healthy and growing. 
• They ask me to watch them play Roblox and explain everything in painful detail. 
• They want me to hang out in their room with them while they watch YouTube or play video games.
• They randomly tell me how much they love me.
• They want me to be their cheer section in their backyard wiffle ball game. 
• They draw pictures of us as a family. 
• They are polite, funny, and show leadership skills I could only imagine having at their age. 
• They have a present, loving dad, and a role model. 

When you quiet the whispers of society and you stop chasing social media's illusion of a perfect mother, you realize you are perfectly imperfect.