People around me often say, « You’re such a good mother, » but I frequently wonder what that really means? It seems like an easy compliment to give, intended to make us feel good, but is it genuine? How do we define « good »? How do we measure it? All I know is that on most days, I don’t feel like a good mom at all. And I am not saying this to get compassion.

What does it means to be a “good mom” ?

I find myself caught in a difficult tension: I want my children to like me, yet I know that being a parent and educator often requires decisions and boundaries that might make my kids dislike me. Why does their approval matter so much to me? Why do I care so much about them liking me? I sometimes question why I feel this way, but deep down, I sort of know. It triggers me because I don’t have a good relationship with my own mother, and I live in constant fear of the story repeating itself.

Lately, I’ve was called to be stricter with them. But then I catch myself wondering: What if they stop liking me? Will they resent me? Or worse, will I resent them?

Indeed, there are moments when I fear resenting them. I feel frustrated when they seem so careless about always asking for more when I already feel stretched beyond my limits. Parenting in this fast-paced, individualistic reality, constantly rushing from one place to the next, was never how I imagined motherhood would be. I know children shouldn’t be expected to show gratitude; they didn’t ask to be born. But it’s not about their acknowledgment, at their age, I doubt they have the capacity for that.

What hurts more is their bluntness, their seeming carelessness about all the ways I had to bend, and the very things I’ve sacrificed, to be this person for them. Part of my frustration comes from their natural expectations, which differ so much from everything I ever knew. They don’t yet have awareness of how challenging it can be to implement new tools as I’m learning them, or the grace that requires. I genuinely love that for them, truly I do. Yet, the younger version of myself feels resentment over the lack of recognition for my current journey. As a mother now, I feel shame for acknowledging these feelings. To wish I could have received a different kind of engagement from them, but I am learning to find peace in the possibility that it may never com. I am learning to acknowledge myself, to continue to pour my energy into paving the way for the next generation, even if it feels lonely.

I recently came across something Badassboz said that stuck with me:

“A lot of us are here as consequences of someone else’s unfulfilled life. Parents sometimes say, ‘I didn’t get to do this because you were born, so now you go and do it for me.’ That isn’t love. True love would have been living a joyful and fulfilled life yourself, becoming the example of how to pursue happiness. Sacrifice, without joy, can become a form of selfishness.”

I love Badassboz; she is truly one of my favorite people in this world. However, I can’t help but think that it is a privilege to hold such a perspective. In an ideal world, we would all have a clear roadmap to happiness and fulfillment. When I say this feels like a privilege, I don’t even mean it in a spirit of frustration or criticism. In fact, I’m glad that some women do benefit from that freedom. I believe everyone deserves the chance to chase their dreams, and parenthood shouldn’t take that away.

But the reality is different for many. Not everyone can simply decide, “I’m going to pursue my dream.” Whether we like it or not, parenthood shapes what is possible. Not everyone has a support system, the means, or the circumstances to pursue their dreams without impacting their children’s mental health. For me, pursuing my own joy might mean moving to another continent, risking leaving my kids behind. I want to follow my happiness, but not at the expense of their wellbeing.

I stay because I want my children to know both me and their father. Our separation has already cost them more than they deserved. They’ve already carried the weight of our immaturity, and I want to minimize that pain as much as I can. Perhaps what I’m doing is a form of sacrifice, but I choose to believe it is also love.

Now that I’ve shared these darker thoughts about motherhood, can you see why the idea of being a “good mom” feels so elusive to me? As mothers, do we ever truly feel like one, or is it something we chase without ever fully grasping? Or maybe a better question is for you, the reader: when do you feel the certainty of being a good parent?

I feel like a good parent when…

Perhaps, in listening to the ways others experience it, I can begin to recognize and finally name the moments when I am, in truth, becoming the kind of mother I long to. 

With love always,

R-D