There was a time when I would not eat if everything was not perfect.
Everything perfect meant Nobody was Offended. Things are in Perfect Order. And I got the Answer Right.
There was a time I could not eat until I finished my chores.
There was a time I did not eat unless I perceived that I did not harm my child.
But I do harm my child. My children. I do them irreparable damage every day. Just because I am me.
No, I do not spank my children. I (sometimes) yell at them. No, I do not insult my children. I am forceful and tough. I am quite strict, and I do not back down when I have already laid down the law.
Let me get this straight. I have never, to the best of my knowledge, abused my children. Not physically, not mentally. But sometimes, I veer on the edge of being verbally rude. I am loud. I am insistent. And I do not negotiate with my children.
On an average, I yell at them three times a week.
When I say I do not negotiate with my kids, I say it with the perspective that they are seven and three years old. Children this young need stability and structure. Parents of such young kids are encouraged not to negotiate with them, because doing so undermines your purpose as their security and emotional backbone. Personally, I follow this direction because I don’t give up easy. I never had. My solid stance on non-negotiation is backed by science (for further information, read Dr. Fran Walfish’s book, The Self-Aware Parent). And if the science changes, so will I.
Yesterday, RH’s teacher told me that he gets riled up whenever he does not get the answer right. RH was also described as, “enthusiastic” and “participatory”. “He hates to losing”, was another comment.
I am MY SON. I manifest all of the traits that describe my son. Through behavioral modelling, I have molded him. Lo, I have done this to my son.
I am so much of him, that sometimes I am appalled by the creature before me, the creature that has so encapsulated and personified my genes and my rhetoric, my child rearing practices, my approach in life.
“Am I a bad parent?” This is the question I keep on asking. And I have been asking myself this question several times, each day, every day, since that day I gave birth to RH. To think about it, I have been asking this question even before I gave birth to my son. “Am I going to be a bad parent if I eat this, do this, think this?” I read a lot of the optimum pregnancy health books for the child growing in me. Now I am reading the best child psychology books to the best of my mental and cognitive capabilities. And I am still asking it, “Am I a bad parent?”
“Am I doing my job right?”
“Am I f**king my kids up?”
“Who tells me if I am wrong or right? What is my Grade in this Subject?”
“Who the hell knows?”
This is the aspect of parenthood, motherhood that drives me up the wall.
Fact is, the only people who can fact-check me now are my spouse and my immediate family members. And that is painful. Because to ask them of their opinion is to beg them to tell me I am not 100% right. All the time. To ask for their opinion is to ask for help.
I am not good with criticism. I am not good with being told I could do things better, with a different, gentler approach.
I am not good with vulnerability. Asking other people for help.
I always have to be right. I have to be perfect. I cannot be flawed.
Damn, and if I am not crystalline, I will not allow myself one bite. Not one bite.
No wonder parenthood drove me to Anorexia.
Let me get that straight: It was not my children. I can never blame my children. I blame my Anorexia on my thought system. Full stop.
And where am I now today? Seated on this table, typing away while my second child sleeps. She has had a cry. And I let her.
“What monster of a parent allows her child to cry? Why did you not comfort her?”
My friend, before the loathing, let me say I got two things in my head that I call “My Truth”. First, I learned how to be more confident with myself as a parent. And second, I have learned to forgive, forgive myself and forgive life itself.
Though I still sometimes ask myself if I am a bad mother or a good mother or if my parenting techniques are amiss, I know now (through almost eight years of experience, and a lot of it spent swallowing my pride) that: I might yell and be loud and be overly enthusiastic, and sometimes I cannot control my temper, BUT I am not my father. I tell my children I love them. I love them even when they do things wrong, when they make mistakes and do not get it right. I love them because they are who they are. And they try and do their best and I know they are doing their best (and if they do not I will help them do their best.) I love them even if they screw up, big time. I will continue to love them, no matter what. I have made a conscious choice not to follow my father’s explosive pattern, his disdain for me, his harsh judgment, his palpable disgust for me being a firstborn Chinoy daughter. (Apparently, my first mistake was not to be born a boy).
I am here typing away, letting my second child cry (after trying to comfort her, but she wouldn’t let me) because of this German saying, “Lassen sie”. It means, “Let it be.” I have come to accept that things cannot always be up to my standards. That life is bittersweet. Parenting my child is bittersweet. There are times when we are on a high, dancing and laughing and making fools of ourselves, and there are times when it seems everything is crashing down. Life with kids is full of unexpected twists and turns, and the quicker I learn how to deal with it, the more mature I am going to be. As a person. As a mother. As a responsible parent and adult. Life is like that. My life now is like that.
Dr. Walfish says coming to terms with this realization is coming to terms with the idea that, “It is better to be a Good Enough Parent.” Because there is no such thing as a Perfect Parent.
Parenthood, motherhood, indeed, there is more to come. Certainly. I am not going anywhere, am I? I decided to be a parent. I have decided to be a great one. It is a decision I will keep on fortifying and working on. I will be working on it until the day I die.
For the rest of my life.
The featured image on this blog was AI-generated by me using free tools, namely ChatGPT, Canva, and Leonardo AI. I use these images to support my written content creatively and cost-effectively.
