Pandemic Motherhood Diary Entry 36: Pandemic Mom Guilt
It was a typical ending of another successful school day for our evolving toddler. He hopped into the backseat more enthusiastically than usual, handing me a flier. “Fall Soccer Sign Up,” it said in big, bold blue and white letters. As I scanned the information, “mom guilt” set in. Regardless, I immediately joined him in his excitement and curiosity while quietly suppressing my anxiety.
Mom guilt is simply defined as the shame mothers feel when they don’t believe they are living up to their own expectations of themselves or others’ expectations. The internal war is always weighed against the question, “Am I doing a good job, or am I failing my child?” Add the weight of navigating the pandemic, and you’ve got pure chaos. I have even stumbled upon “pandemic mom guilt” focused blogs that discuss navigating mom guilt during such an unpredictable time.
When my son first started school, it was a nauseatingly emotional rollercoaster. I didn’t want him in school for the same reasons I never put him in daycare. I couldn’t shake the memory of the news stories about daycares closing due to COVID-19 outbreaks. I also couldn’t stomach the idea of someone mistreating my child. Of course, missing your kids is normal. But the additional external negatives – a deadly virus and school shootings – are not normal, or at least they shouldn’t be.
My son showing me the flier for soccer was less about further letting him go. It was those same concerns boiling over all over again. I’m still adjusting to him spending a full day in school. Now, I have to consider him attending practice, meeting more kids, and being under the care of more strangers. With my natural ability to make everything frightening paired with parenting, mom guilt and paranoia tend to get the best of me. How do I make choices regarding my child without feeling like I’m holding him back socially? On the flip side, how do I make choices regarding my child without feeling like I’m exposing him to more potential ills?
The pandemic has rewired what “normal” is supposed to look and feel like. I would argue that parenting in the last decade is much heavier than before. Add the last four years, and we’re doing everything we can to keep ourselves from crumbling into a pile of question marks. Ignorance is bliss, and sometimes, I wish I could shut off the parts of my brain that are soaking up the realities of raising a child in today’s world. The older they get, the more their day-to-day changes. The more I dread. The more I worry. The more I wonder if I am doing what’s best for my kids.
A large part of motherhood for me has been participating in my kids’ joy and providing it. During the moment when my son pulled out the soccer flier, I put on an Oscar-worthy performance, and I laid my concerns aside for a later grown-up conversation with my husband. I understood that he wanted my genuine interest to be filled with joy and nothing less. So, that’s what I gave him. After two weeks of weighing the pros and cons with my husband and asking our son if he was sure he wanted to play, we decided it was best to let him try. Now, my son will spend a little less time running circles around our kitchen island and get to use some of that speed on the field.
Melissa Menny is an author with a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism. She is a poet and a writer in all aspects. When she is not working, she enjoys painting, music, and spending time with her husband and two sons.
This is the most recent in a series of essays about raising young children in the COVID era. Read entry 35 here.