Mommy Mystique: The Need To Be Perfect

            This post has to come with an advisory of sorts. I’m about to talk about my very private mental health, which is uncomfortable for me, but the year 2020 is helping me feel braver. I will be talking about postpartum depression. If you have it, please seek professional help. After you do that, come back here for some amazing books that can also help you.

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After the birth of my second child, I went through a deep depression. I didn’t say a word about it for two years, even though there were at least six months that my brain felt like it was on fire and I wanted to die. I didn’t know what it was, and, because I didn’t know what it was, I internalized it as a fundamental flaw. I convinced myself that I was the problem. I drew up schedules, I prayed to be more organized, I cried over the messes…it wasn’t pretty. Turns out, I’m not the only one who internalizes that guilt. Freed, Chan, Boger, and Tompson (2012) noted that one of the most common barriers to receiving care for postpartum depression (PPD) was that mothers didn’t recognize it in themselves—they thought they just needed to get it together. Kleinman (2005) said that family members also don’t recognize the symptoms of PPD because mothers who are sinking into it tend to exude control. They pretend to be okay because they fear being seen as irresponsible, unworthy, incapable, and so on.

            While researching postpartum depression during my freshman year, in addition to the resources above, I came across Perfect Madness by Judith Warner. This book completely changed my life. With Warner’s help, I started to understand that I had built an ideal for myself—an impossible ideal—and punished myself for not meeting that criteria. I wanted to be like June Cleaver: my lipstick immaculate, my clothes neat, my hair smooth, my food always homemade, my waist trim, my voice always gentle and sweet. Fast forward to four c-sections in five years. I wear leggings, because pants irritate my scar; I still carry my pregnancy weight (and it’s not interested in leaving me); I fix sandwiches for supper sometimes (and some days we eat frozen pizza); I embrace fast food as a convenience when my life is so chaotic that I can barely breathe; I sometimes yell with frustration; and I swear like a sailor—but under my breath so my kids can’t hear me. Warner helped me see that I’m not the only one.

            Warner (2006) refers to this problem—this creating of an ideal mother—as the “Mommy Mystique.” This mystique tells us how lucky we are to be mothers; it beats us over the head with information to help us decide what’s best for our children; and it tells us that if we mess up—even a little bit—our children will be screwed up forever. She dissects the idea of personal choices and how everyone is so convinced that we have a choice in every situation, when it’s not that simple. She writes: “It [the Mommy Mystique] tells us if we choose badly our children will fall prey to countless dangers—from insecure attachment to drugs to kidnapping to a third-rate college. And if this happens, if our children stray from the path toward happiness and success, we will have no one but ourselves to blame. Because to point fingers out at society, to look beyond ourselves, is to shirk ‘personal responsibility.’ To admit that we cannot do everything ourselves, that indeed we need help—and help on a large, systematic scale—is tantamount to admitting personal failure” (Warner, 2006).

             When my life is overwhelming, I will descend into chaos rather than admit that I need help. I will figuratively drown myself and blame myself for my choices the whole way. Warner (2006) says that this is a pattern she noticed as well, for it seems that society is very “choice conscious.” When we see someone fail, our first instinct is to analyze their mistakes to see where they went wrong. (Susan Douglas and Meredith Michaels did an amazing job of illustrating this in their book The Mommy Myth: The Idealization of Motherhood and How It Has Undermined All Women published in 2004. In this book, they show how the media demonizes the parents—particularly mothers—when tragedies strike.) Warner (2006) also says that women don’t so much make choices as evolve to fit what their families need. When the mother experiences symptoms of depression, she will try to work through it herself, because she feels selfish for having this problem in the first place (Freed et. al, 2012).  

            Parents are beginning to be brave enough to speak out about their mental health—even if it is anonymously through amazing writers like Warner. Hopefully this bravery can lead to the end of the parenting wars—which even the dads can’t escape these days—and we can all accept that we’re doing our best to raise empathetic and kind human beings. We might not be perfect parents, but we are trying. And it’s not like our kids are born saints.

            What can we do to further that progress? First, when you hear a parent say their kid is being a jerk, don’t tell them to be grateful that they can have children because there are people who would kill (sarcasm) to be able to have a child of their own. One difficulty does not nullify another. Second, when you hear a parent ask for help, for the love of all that is holy do not respond with ideas for how they can fix it. (As one who has been on the giving and receiving end of this one, I can tell you that I have friends that have plotted my murder, because I am full of good ideas on how you can fix your life.) Third, when you can see that a parent feels like a failure, point out their successes. (Sorry, Aarika, here comes another “Studies have shown” moment…)

Chance (2014)—yes, this is a psychology textbook, no I’m not sorry—said that people learn
more from success than they do failure. It sounds counterproductive, particularly since we’ve been taught from a young age that criticism is the only way we learn. When a parent is upset because their kid bit another, point out that their kid is the happiest kid you have ever met; or their kid gave half its snack to a puppy; or they went into their car seat without screaming…something. If you can’t think of a compliment, feel free to tell your own war story: “My child football tackled his brother and wrestled a toy away from him, while both of them screamed so loud that the neighbors were staring. Kids are jerks, man.”

When the chaos settles, break out a gift basket that includes wine, chocolate, Warner’s book (again, that title is Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety), a highlighter and set of pens from Mr. Pen (No, it’s not a sponsored post, those are just the best brand.), and a pair of cozy socks or a mug. (Because as the sweet cashier at 2^nd & Charles pointed out…mugs are less flimsy than wine glasses and less likely to be broken when you have wild kids.)

 

References

Douglas, S. J. & Michaels, M. W. (2004). The mommy myth: The idealization of motherhood and how it has undermined all women. New York, NY: Free Press.

Freed, R. D., Chan, P. T., Boger, K. D., & Tompson, M. C. (2012). Enhancing maternal depression recognition in health care settings: A review of strategies to improve detection, reduce barriers, and reach mothers in need. Families, Systems, & Health, 30(1), 1-18. doi: 10.1037/a0027602

Kleinman, K. (2005). Therapy and the postpartum woman: Notes on healing postpartum depression for clinicians and the women who seek their help 1^st ed. New York, NY: Routledge

Warner, J. (2006). Perfect madness: Motherhood in the age of anxiety. New York, NY: Riverhead Books