- I was an overachiever when I had my two sons in my 20s.
- Now that I’m 40 and have a toddler, I’ve learned that I don’t have to be exhausted to be a good mom.
- I realized it was okay to ask others in my community for help.
I had a teenage son in my late 20s, and in my 30s, I raised two toddlers. Now I’m over 40, raising toddlers again, and I’m not the same.
I grew up as an overachieving older millennial. Once I became a mother, I saw parenting as the most risky job and was determined to do it well.
Unimpressed with the handful of mommy-and-me art and music classes I took with my first child once he was old enough, I began designing my own exploratory arts curriculum rooted in African-American culture.
At home, I introduced the kids to the music of Fela Kuti and John Coltrane and the art of Jacob Lawrence, Romare Bearden, and Jean-Michel Basquiat. We tried our hand at mixed-media collages and watercolor painting on the floor while Afrobeat music filled our kitchen.
When they were toddlers, I was their teacher. I would organize their daily schedule with breakfast, lessons, and morning trips to museums, walks in the woods, or other errands before coming home for lunch. Then, I would put them to bed for a nap, while working on projects for my consulting clients.
I remember visiting several daycares and even using one for a few months. But ultimately, my husband and I decided that my boys would be better off at home with me, where I could keep a closer eye on their development.
I was obsessed with the idea of them learning and “getting ahead” even before they officially started school. When my kids were 2 and 3, I bought them Lego sets, puzzles, and coloring books designed for 4- and 5-year-olds. I always pushed them to go beyond the average; I wanted them to be extraordinary.
If they showed the slightest interest in anything, I would seek out lessons, camps, and classes. I bought tons of professional art supplies, often spending hundreds of dollars without being asked.
To be clear, no one pressured me; I put pressure on myself. I see my incredible accomplishments as a way to prepare them for future success in a highly competitive world. I didn’t come from a wealthy family, but what I lacked in generational wealth to pass on, I made up for in sheer grit.
When they officially started school at 3 and 4, I felt confident that my sons were on the right track. My youngest could already read and my oldest was studying in a Mandarin immersion school. Formal piano lessons would begin the following year. I continued to monitor their progress outside of the classroom.
Everything was different when I had a daughter
Being a high-achieving mom while juggling a career and starting a business meant that I often put myself first. My parenting style came at the expense of my own inner child—the freedom to rejoice and build a stronger relationship with myself.
I stopped pursuing my interests as I had before I had kids and instead devoted all my energy to raising my kids. I stopped writing creatively, reading for pleasure, and hanging out with girlfriends, just for fun. Instead, I viewed my free time as an opportunity to move forward. Every moment was worth fighting for.
So when I gave birth to my daughter in late 2020 — 12 years after my last son — I was exhausted. Her arrival in the midst of a pandemic triggered a season of deep exhaustion for me as I, at nearly 40, was forced to acknowledge my limitations. My daughter helped me rest. She also helped me find community.
We had kept our sons at home for the first few years of their lives, and with a deadly virus going around and a vaccine still in its infancy, we felt it would be best to keep our daughter at home as well. However, right after she turned 1, our pediatrician recommended we enroll her in a local daycare so she could get out of the house and be with other kids. We tried it and found it to be a great fit for her.
No, it’s not a Montessori program that uses the latest research on children’s social-emotional development, but he seems to enjoy it. He has fun every day, shows affection for his teachers, and seems happy to be part of his group of friends.
I shifted my focus from asking, “Is she thriving?” to, “Is she a happy, well-adjusted person in the world?” And when I realized that the answer was yes — and that it was her own way of thriving — that was good enough for me.
When my boys were little, I thought motherhood was something I would have to do alone. Hundreds of miles away from my family in Tennessee, my husband and I didn’t have much family help with childcare. At the time, most of the mothers at their school were older than me, because women my age didn’t have children yet.
But this time around, more of my peers also have toddlers, which means I have a built-in community. So now, instead of trying to get a gold star for figuring it all out on my own, I regularly ask them to copy my homework.
I learned that it’s okay to ask other parents for help.
My mother-daughter network has shared hand-me-down winter coats, barely-worn Easter dresses, and child-specialist recommendations. They’ve forwarded sign-up links to Saturday soccer games and their extensive notes on elementary school options. They’ve done the homework to find the best ballet class for a 3-year-old; they’ve found a hair braider who does home visits and is good at dealing with cranky toddlers.
I used to feel guilty asking for recommendations, like I was cutting in line. I always tried hard and went above and beyond; I didn’t want to be seen as lazy. But I’ve learned that relying on my network to help me doesn’t make me lazy, unserious, or uncaring as a parent. Their support keeps me from feeling inferior.
In my 30s, I was afraid that if I failed to work hard and excel as a parent myself, I would hinder my children’s development. But my mindset has evolved as I’ve gotten older, so I forgive myself now.
When my older kids were little, I parented them with a lot of pressure, as if there was so much at stake if I didn’t push them to achieve. I think a lot of my self-worth depended on how well I was doing as a mother. Each of their accomplishments was a gold star—proof that I was a good mom. If they weren’t progressing, or at least not on the right track, I was a failure.
I think this happened mainly because I viewed them as “my greatest accomplishment” and their own accomplishments as the currency necessary for their future happiness and success.
I realize that the way the world is structured, a certain level of achievement is necessary but may not be necessary for the kind of happiness or success they ultimately seek. They are not me. We are the same in many ways, but in some ways, we are different. They tell me they appreciate the initial push, but did they need it to get to where they are? I’m not so sure.
I don’t need to work excessively to be considered a good mother
Being more relaxed this time means I’m more present. I’m not my daughter’s CEO or performance coach—I’m just a mom. Now, I play without an agenda; every toy doesn’t have to teach a new skill, and every play doesn’t have to be a stepping stone.
I think mothers are beginning to renegotiate the idea that we have to devote every free moment and effort to our children in order to be considered “good,” and in order to be considered good mothers. Of course, we want them to be great, but we are also learning to trust that they will find their own path. Their path doesn’t have to be set in stone; we can let it unfold as it is.
My daughter is 3 and can’t read like my older kids her age, but she is one of the most socially intelligent people I know. So instead of comparing her to her siblings, I am nurturing her natural talents and celebrating her uniqueness. I am learning to nurture her as a person, not as a project to earn extra credit.
Not that I’m trying to do the bare minimum as a mom now, but I’ve realized that overworking isn’t practical or necessary at this stage in my life. I’ve done the work, and for the most part, my kids are doing great. I don’t need to burn myself out just to make them do well.
