Dedicated to Moms: Letting Go of the Perfect Image

Brie Gowen : May 6, 2016
Faithit.com

I had to let go of thinking I needed to be the woman I was before I had children because the truth was I would never be her again. And deep down I was fine with that. The new me, the one with a disaster for a home and spit-up on my shirt, was pretty darn happy when it came down to it.

[Faithit.com] Have you ever heard women say "she really let herself go after having kids" when they're discussing another woman's apparent abandon of appearance? (Photo via Faithit.com)

Well, I've come to that place, and I'm just like, whatever.

Today I found myself trying to find the perfect swaying motion to get my cranky infant to fall asleep as I wore her strapped to my chest, and as I sidestepped to the right while asking my kindergartener, "Is that a vowel or a consonant," I stepped loudly on a pile of abandoned Goldfish crackers.

Suddenly I wondered, why is it so quiet, and where is the three-year-old?

I looked past the remnants of destroyed cheese snacks to the aftermath I sometimes referred to as a living room. In reality it was a playroom. A toy box. A hamper for forgotten laundry. Certainly not a place to entertain other adults or watch television programming that wasn't animated.

I looked around at the stylish, overstuffed chair, its Feng Shui design masked by a load of unfolded laundry, and then toward the kitchen sink overflowing with just a day's worth of dishes, and I realized something very important to my mental health. I was going to have to let myself go.

Earlier that morning as I attempted to do something selfish and brush my own teeth, my frustration level steadily crept up and up. My patience and ability to ignore screaming and crying slowly petered out, and I realized I wanted to scream too. I wanted to cry. I wanted someone to hold me, to tell me, "there, there my dear, everything will be OK." But instead my baby who refused to nap for more than 15 minutes screeched in her own language, "Pick me up, pick me up. Pick. Me. Up. Now!"

Once again I felt that all too familiar sense of I'm no good at this, and I prayed to the good Lord to help me not implode. Then I scooped up my babe and texted my husband to pour out my heart to his bent ear.

It felt good that as busy as he was at work he still had time for me, and he told me all the things I already knew, but really needed to hear from someone else's lips. And I got the same reassurance from another homeschooling mom I had reached out to for calm camaraderie when I felt like I was about to drown.

All my lifelines and phone-a-friend responses had given me the millionaire answer that deep down I already knew. I was gonna have to let myself go.

As much as I wanted to have a clean house, stocked pantry and perfectly executed homeschool lesson, the fact was it wouldn't always go that way. The wonder woman wife who folded all my husband's laundry might have to take a backseat to the sane spouse who managed to not forget the wet towels in the washing machine. I had to let myself go. I had to let go of the preconceived notion that I could do all the things I wanted to do.

I couldn't empty the moving boxes that still marred my bedroom floor. I couldn't squeeze in that trip to Walmart today. I had to let some of it go in favor of something as simple as holding my three-year-old when she asked me to.

I had to let go of the disappointment that my preschooler asked me today if I still had a baby in my tummy, or the fact that my split ends and dark roots were atrocious. The same child had also saved me from mirror madness when I thought I hated my bad hair day, and she had said out of the blue, "You're so pretty, Momma."

I had to let go of thinking I needed to be the woman I was before I had children because the truth was I would never be her again. And deep down I was fine with that. The new me, the one with a disaster for a home and spit-up on my shirt, was pretty darn happy when it came down to it.

As I had spoken with my husband I had said something so very true. I had told him, "I feel so blessed to be home with them. It's where my heart thrives." And no greater truth had ever been spoken.

It's easy to lose sight of what's important or to focus on the beautiful chaos like it's an awful mess. But when it comes right down to it, the most important things get taken care of. The rest is just a bonus.

In my house the floors are always dirty, but my babies are clean. I mean, for the most part. Sure the dishes are overflowing, the spoons are missing and my wardrobe leaves much to be desired, but my daughters know I love them. They know that even though Momma is crazy sometimes that she loves them like the air she breathes. They know this.

My top priority in parenting is leading my children to Christ, and them seeing His light in my life. If my unrealistic expectations of myself get in the way of that then I really have no other option. I just have to let myself go.

About the Author: Brie Gowen is a 30-something (sliding ever closer to 40-something) wife and mother. When she's not loving on her hubby, chasing after the toddler or playing princess with her four-year-old, she enjoys cooking, reading and writing down her thoughts to share with others. Brie is also a huge lover of Jesus. She finds immense joy in the peace a relationship with her Savior provides, and she might just tell you about it sometime. She'd love for you to check out her blog at BrieGowen.com.

Reprinted with permission from Faithit.com.