I am not the perfect mother, nor do I strive to be. Not because I lack the desire to show up as the best possible version of myself for my child, but because I know that even the best version of myself isn’t absent of flaw.
To be flawed is the bark of my humanity.
I am a deeply flawed human being — and I am a mother. And I don’t know where or from whom I learned that those things could not coexist, but I now know that my mothering and my mess are allowed to coincide. In fact, without one or the other, I would not be whole.
It has gone against the grain of my journey to attempt to embrace a life devoid of the perfection I have always strived to attain. But I believe that God plants little nuggets of wisdom all around us, and some things require a certain stillness to be able to hear and receive. I found myself taking in one of those wisdoms recently as I was riding passenger in the car.
My husband was driving and our son was slowly making his way to sleep. As we winded the roads of our town, I happened to look up at the crescent moon. What was initially noticeable, of course, was the illuminated arc. For a while, the light was all I could see. Yet, as I stared a while longer, my eyes became fixated on the unlit portion. In that moment, as I traced the moon with my eyes, the illuminated crescent joined with the concealed fraction, making the moon whole.
Going forward from that evening and into my mothering, I began to observe myself as a crescent moon. I am made of both light and darkness, which combined, create the entirety of my being. As full as I am of love and light, I am not absent of flaw. Honoring that truth allows me to lay down the quest for perfection, and extend grace to myself.
As a mother, it allows me to lean into the not knowing it all — because not knowing everything means that I can be receptive to learning all that mothering seeks to teach me.
My weakness and my strength, my darkness and my light, all congregate to make the sum of this woman that I am. It is the grace that I extend to my humanity — the way I carry my wounds, the hope that I cling to — that will forever be a gift to my son.
Allowing my child to see me flawed — and to see me tend gently to the shadows, the bruises, and the traumas of mine — will, over time, teach him what it is to offer grace to ourselves as humans.
I do not want him growing up to hitch a ride on the quest of unattainable perfection. I want him growing up embracing his humanity, because I believe that will make him a kinder human not only to others, but to himself.
As of right now, there’s comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really see the mess. He just sees his mother. Through the days I feel as though I don’t know what I’m doing, through the moments I lack patience — there lies his unconditional love through it all.
But I know that one day, he will grasp understanding. He will begin to see my storms for what they truly are. And my hope, for now and for then, is to show him that the rain does not have to be a condition we resent, but rather one that we learn to dance in and use to water the flowers we create from our wounds.
To be flawed is the bark of your humanity, mama. Perfectionism isn’t your friend, but grace will always be your faithful companion.
From one mother to another,
Mariah Maddox
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This was so beautiful. Thank you for your transparency and for sharing