I tried my best. I really did.
I honestly believe I tried harder than the majority of moms. And believe me, that's not a flex. I tried so hard because I had never been good at anything. Especially after a second trimester loss and then infertility, I guess I felt like I had to prove myself. That I could do this. That I could actually do something. Be good at something.
I was going to be this baby's mom, and I was gonna be the best fucking mom I could be.
Because he was the most important thing.
I researched the shit out of everything
I spent ten thousand hours on the baby registry. Read all the books. Took the classes. Planned planned planned. Prepped prepped prepped. I read the research. I knew all the things. I knew the strategies. I knew what to do.
But the trouble is, I didn’t have the skills to actually do the things.
No matter how hard I tried to be like those moms, I wasn't cutting it. I mean, I did a really good job at pretending. I ran 2 support groups in real life and a massive Facebook group. People turned to me for advice and information all the time. People paid me money to teach them what I knew.
You know her.
I mean, I wanted to be that mom. I think I may have even believed I was that mom for a while.
Who is that mom? She’s the one who speaks calmly to her kid when he bites another kid. The one who doesn’t spike cortisol and adrenaline where her baby won’t stop crying. The mom who can drive a car with a screaming baby inside and be completely unphased. The mom with a neat and clean house. And no plastic toys. And Waldorf everything.
You know her.
She’s calm, cool, and collected and has emotional regulation skills out the ass. She’s never late. Bakes the muffins. Everything’s organic. Has a side gig. Breastfeeds on demand. Co-sleeps. Has 15 baby wraps and knows how to use each one.
I know her. I know a lot of them. Some people may even argue that I was one of them.
I wasn’t.
I tried. But I wasn’t.
You can’t teach what you don’t know
But only looking back can I see that I couldn't be that mom. No matter how hard I tried. I just didn't have the skills. I had ZERO emotional regulation skills and zero executive functions. I wasn't born with them. And no one taught me. Because same for them.
So I didn't have the skills I needed to teach this little person. Because you can’t teach what you don’t know. I wanted to. I tried to. But I couldn’t.
Now listen, I'm not saying I was a shit mom. I was, and am, a really great mom.
BUT.
I wanted so badly to raise kids who didn't have to heal from their childhood. And I really tried. I tried really fucking hard. Harder than I’ve ever tried at anything in my whole life.
Because this was the most important thing. And probably the only thing I ever really cared about.
I did all the things
And I mean I did all the things.
The food — I wanted them to have an adventurous palette. They breastfed, so they were supposed to like everything. They didn't. They're very picky eaters, and in my head: I failed.
The holding, the carrying — I kept them close to me all the time. I never left my kids. I didn't want to miss a minute. That also meant I never had any time to recalibrate. So I was angry and ragey and lost my shit more than I’d like to admit. I mean, I yelled at my baby. It was that bad. I yelled at my baby. And not just once.
I wanted systems and routines. I wanted to sleep when the baby slept. But there were just so many things to do. So many things to manage. And I tried so many things. Tried and tried and they never worked. They never stuck. I knew the things I needed to do but I couldn't do them.
Because she didn’t know they existed
Now my kids are big and I see the result of a mom with undiagnosed ADHD and autism, who never learned the emotional regulation skills or the executive functions, who never dealt with her RSD or her PDA — because she didn’t know they existed. My children paid (and continue to pay) the price.
And I get to beat myself up over it for the rest of my life. Yeah yeah, I know I know. We can’t blame ourselves and blah blah blah. Whatever.
I'm working on it. I'm working on not beating myself up. But it's not fucking easy.
The best I can do is help other moms. Save them from going through what I've gone through. Save their kids from being fucked up by a mom who's trying her best, but her best just isn't good enough.
That's the thing. I tried my best and it wasn't good enough. And that's not my fault. I didn't have the skills, the knowledge, the strategies, the support I needed as a neurodivergent mom. That’s no one’s fault.
(Except maybe capitalism, patriarchy and the like.)
Here I am
They're 17 and 12, and all I can think is: I fucked up so bad. I tried so fucking hard. I gave
my whole life. And they're still fucked up. I did my best. And my best just wasn't good enough.
Again. Yeah yeah. I get it. I'm working on accepting that my best is all I could give. But I’m not there yet
and it still fucking hurts. Because I know what I've done to them.
To be clear, I’m not writing this because I want a pity party. I’m writing it for the mom who’s in it right
now. The one who read all the books and still loses it on the regular. The one who loves her kids with her whole body and still lies awake replaying all the things she did wrong that day. I need you to hear
what I couldn’t hear yet: you are not failing. You have been and continue to be failed. You are missing
skills nobody ever taught you.
I couldn’t teach what I didn’t know. Neither can you. That’s not a sign that you suck as a mom. All it is is
a missing manual.
My inbox is always open — tell me your story. Or book a Guided Start: one mom to
another, and we’ll create your manual together.
