There are days when I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything I said and did as a mom and it’s not in a proud, gold star way. I think about the raised voice, the rushed goodbye, the forgotten snack, the missed moment. Some days, motherhood doesn’t feel like the beautiful, magical experience it’s supposed to be. It just feels like failure.
No one really prepares you for that part. We hear so much about the joys of motherhood, the miracle of it, the unconditional love and yes, all of that exists. But so does the exhaustion, the doubt, and the guilt that creeps in when you feel like you’re not getting it right.
For me, failure in motherhood doesn’t come with big dramatic moments. It’s more like a slow drip. It’s the pile of laundry I keep stepping over. It’s the eye roll from my child that stings more than it should. It’s the forgotten permission slip, the long screen time, the short temper that surprises even me. It’s those tiny cracks that make me wonder if I’m doing enough or worse, if I am enough.
And then there’s the comparison game. I scroll through social media and see perfect bento box lunches, spotless homes, calm smiles. I see moms who seem to be thriving, glowing, doing crafts at 8 a.m. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to survive the morning routine without losing my patience. It’s hard not to feel like I’m falling behind, like I’m the only one fumbling through this.
I think what hurts the most on those hard days is how lonely it feels. Like I’m the only mom yelling into the void, wishing I could rewind the day and be gentler, more present, more of everything. But I know I’m not alone. I know there are other moms out there who sit in their cars after drop-off and cry. Who love their children deeply but are drowning in the mental load. Who wake up determined to do better, only to fall into the same cycle.
Sometimes I ask myself, Why does this feel so hard? Shouldn’t love be enough? But the truth is, love isn’t the issue. I love my children fiercely. The problem is the pressure of external and internal to be perfect. To never mess up. To raise kind, brilliant, happy kids while also maintaining some version of my own identity, career, relationships, and sanity.
But here’s what I’m learning: Feeling like a failure doesn’t make me one. It means I care. It means I want to be better. It means I’m aware of my impact, and I’m trying even if I stumble.
On the days when I feel like I’m failing, I remind myself that motherhood isn’t about getting it all right. It’s about showing up. It’s about apologizing when I get it wrong. It’s about listening, even when I’m tired. It’s about loving through the mess, the tantrums, the awkward growing pains (mine and theirs).
Some of the most powerful moments I’ve had as a mother came not from doing it perfectly, but from owning my mistakes and trying again. From sitting beside my child and saying, “I’m sorry I yelled. I was overwhelmed. I’m working on it.” And watching them respond with no judgment, but with understanding. Because kids don’t need perfect moms. They need real ones.
So, if you’re reading this and you’ve had one of those days (or weeks, or months), let me say this: You are not alone. You are not a bad mom. You are human. And your imperfect, messy, real love is more than enough.
Motherhood will never be flawless. But maybe that’s not the goal. Maybe the goal is to be present, to grow, to forgive ourselves as much as we forgive our children. And to remember that even on the days we feel like we’re failing, we’re still showing up. And that matters more than we think.
Blessed In Struggles 