There’s no such thing as a perfect parent

As an only child raised by a workaholic mother, I am the picture of an overachieving perfectionist. Despite all of my unlearning, therapy and Lexapro, I still harbor a  secret: I keep an absurd number of Post-it notes on hand. Not because I take a ton of notes, but because if I write a Post-it that isn’t perfectly composed… perfectly spaced… perfectly perfect… I crumple it up and start again. There are times I’ve blown through 10 Post-its just to get one that’s satisfactory. Peculiar? Yes, perhaps. The good news is that I’m aware. So aware, in fact, that I will bury the crumpled up proof of my neurosis deep in the trash bin, just to avoid exposing my imperfections to the world. But I’m learning to be OK with this “quirk” of mine, and I stand by the fact that very few things will ever replace the satisfaction of a perfectly written Post-it. 

What I’m not OK with, however, is the impact that this deep desire for perfection has on one’s ability to parent. The pressure and guilt that we place on ourselves and each other can be downright debilitating, yet we continue to perpetuate the narrative of the “perfect parent” with every carefully-edited Instagram post and “I’m doing fine,” response that we put out into the world.

While the perfect Post-it just might be attainable, reaching “perfect parent” status 100% is not.  

Trust me on this one.  

After a decade working in client services for design and innovation consultancies around the  world, I abandoned my career and became a postpartum doula. That’s correct. I chose to leave  my well-paying, corporate job to make $11,000 a year supporting people as they transitioned  into parenthood. (As a disclaimer, I would never have been able to consider following my heart and pursuing purpose-led care work had I not had a partner with a steady job and health insurance—a privilege I do not take lightly.) 

Now, I’m going to let you in on another little secret: When you go to a friend’s house to bring them a meal after they’ve had a baby, you will almost certainly be getting a Photoshopped version of their experience. They will tidy their home before you arrive, put on “real” clothes, and tell you that they’re doing great. Why? We’ve been taught that if we aren’t radiating love and gratitude immediately following the birth of our baby, we’re Bad Mothers. So we hide our truth behind fake smiles and those trusty Instagram posts, just like the ones who came before us.  

However, when someone is paying you to support them, they no longer have to edit themselves. Instead, you get a backstage pass to their raw and tender journey into  parenthood. 

Throughout the years, I have helped women change their pads and pull their underwear up over their fresh C-section wounds. 

I’ve carefully fit their breast pumps to their bleeding nipples, and held them as they mourned the loss of what was; deep in the liminal space of transformation. 

I bore witness to relationship struggles, mental health disorders, as well as the most awe-inspiring beauty one can imagine. 

But what I have never seen—not even once, is a perfect parent. It is not a thing. It is not real. It does not exist. 

The problem is, we continue to tell ourselves that perfection is real, like some sort of monster  lurking in our collective closet. And during those rare moments when you do graze the edges of  perfection, I would urge you to consider: at what cost? 

Did you take the time that you needed for you, before planning every minute detail of the first birthday that no one will even remember? Are you spending as much time and energy caring for yourself as you spent preparing that adorable lunch that your child may not even eat?

What if, instead of striving for perfection, we began striving for wholeness?

What if we started  expending as much energy on our own minds, hearts and bodies as we spend worrying what other people might think of us? What if we made space for the entire spectrum of experiences and emotions that come along with parenthood?

What if we started to normalize humanity—messy countertops and all?  

Being a parent is hard enough without bearing the burden of a million unrealistic expectations, so I urge you to let it all go. Next time you feel that inner critic starting to emerge, I invite you to ever-so-gently remind yourself that we’re all doing our best… one crumb-covered countertop at a time.