On judgy moms and mom-shaming
Defensiveness as unfelt grief
“She must be allowed to cry. It is only when woman can experience her tears that she can also experience her true, deep feeling values.”
Judith Duerk, Circle of Stones: Woman’s Journey to Herself
Two years ago I sent my first-born off on a big yellow bus to kindergarten. I was not okay.
However, there was more to it for me than the typical situation. In the early years, I had a vague sense that I’d probably homeschool my kids. I wasn’t homeschooled myself, but it suits my values as a free-spirited creative. I’m a former teacher, so I know what school is like.1 I didn’t want to squash their spirits—emotionally, intellectually, or otherwise. I wanted them to be free of the assembly line vibe where children are churned out with the highest values of pleasing and productivity.
But when it came time, I wasn’t ready to live this out.
I’ve struggled as an at-home parent, and we still had two other littles at home. (We were also working through some challenges with our middle child.) I was concerned about my sanity, and whenever I’d ask a homeschooling mom about this, she’d invariably laugh and say some version of “Can’t help ya there!” Perhaps these mothers didn’t realize I was seriously wondering how they maintained a sense of wholeness as a woman as they continued to be with their kids 24/7 (I can be an overly serious person), but either way, it confirmed my suspicion that my reality doesn’t match up with my ideals.
When my husband and I sat down to make the decision officially, he said, “I know you want to do this, and I want it, too. But I don’t think you’ll be happy.”
I burst into tears. He was right, but my heart was broken about it.
That school year was fine, and when this one rolled around, we decided to stick with school. We sent our middle to kindergarten and oldest on to 1st (they’re 20 months apart). Again I didn’t love it—it wasn’t what I knew in my soul I wanted—but I also knew it was what was realistic.2
At one point during this past year I saw a reel from a homeschool account I’d followed (and loved) for a long time. This particular message hit me wrong. It said: “Wanting to be with your kids is enough of a reason to homeschool.” I was immediately—for lack of a better word—triggered. Oh, so people who send their kids to school don’t want to be with their kids? was my quick mental retort. I didn’t comment (I don’t usually get into it in social media comments sections), but I felt very annoyed and defensive.
Just days later a writer friend asked her readers “What are some online motherhood trends you’re tired of seeing?” This was my chance to let it out. “I’m actually getting really tired of homeschooling content,” I responded. “It’s gotten really intense on Instagram in the last few years, a vibe like ‘if you don’t homeschool you must hate your kids.’”
Ah, that morally superior energy—it felt so good! How righteous I was calling out all these judgy homeschool accounts!
***********
A few weeks later I opened that post back up (I’d saved it—maybe future me was preemptively calling my bullshit), and to my shock I saw it totally differently .I read a reply from the account to someone who had commented along the lines of my initial response, clarifying that this was a message for moms who didn’t feel like they had a “good reason” to homeschool.
Wow. Okay, that makes so much sense, I thought. She was speaking to her audience, who she knows very well. She’s an incredibly thoughtful, helpful woman.3 Why did I react the way I did?
BECAUSE I WAS IN GRIEF.
It touched on a nerve, and that nerve was “I deeply want to homeschool, but I’m not homeschooling.” I even knew that—that I was sad about not homeschooling—and I still reacted that way.
Why? Because grief is profoundly uncomfortable. To grieve is to feel sadness and disappointment. This is very hard. It’s too vulnerable. It means admitting mistakes, or loss of control, or just the general imperfection of life, which is particularly difficult in a culture where we think we can have everything just how we want it if we just try hard enough.
There’s another reason too, I think—we seem to have no social tolerance for sadness. Have you ever noticed how “sorry” inevitably rolls off the tongue of someone who is beginning to cry in the presence of another? When did we all learn that we must apologize for crying? How is this such a universal behavior?4
So grief is out. What then? You know what’s a whole lot easier than feeling grief? Not feeling it—and instead projecting it outward. (Is this what “projection” is? I’m not a psychotherapist.) Saying someone is judging you, when really, it’s you judging you. You don’t like your situation and would rather it be different.
I think this is what happens to so many of us as modern mothers. I think a lot of us need to grieve, but because we don’t sense that there’s a place for our grief, we don’t feel it. So we join the chorus telling people on the Internet to stop judging and mom-shaming.
The thing is, tears are holy. They are not only healing but they are wise: our tears can teach us what’s really true and alive and aligned for us.
At the beginning of the post I quoted a book I’m reading. Later in that chapter the author goes on to say:
“The tears of these young and capable women must be allowed and encouraged to flow—to flow out to the culture and society which so truly and desperately need them and their tears—to help society reconnect with the true and deep values of life which can sustain and support that culture.”
I don’t know about you, but that resonates for me.
When tears are a sign of weakness, no one wants to cry them—and society is worse off for it. We get further away from the “true and deep values of life” that grief, frustration, sadness, etc. could help us re-discover. Of course, we do not just need women’s tears5, but there is something specific to women here, I think. Emotion, instinct, vulnerability… our overly masculine culture does us no favors by trivializing or dismissing these forms of feminine strength that could usher in a richer and more meaningful world for all of us.
I had another situation just recently where this pattern popped up again. An acquaintance and I were texting about constipation (lol only moms) in our two-year-olds. She asked me how often does she nurse?, thinking I was still breastfeeding. I told her my daughter actually weaned at 15 months. She left a sad face on that comment before continuing our conversation, and for a moment I got defensive.
Sad face? Really? That’s a little judgy.
Later that day, upon reflection and with this essay in mind, I realized, you know what? I *am* sad I’m not still breastfeeding. I wanted to go longer with her—as she may be our last baby—but that’s not how it worked out. In the moment I felt okay with being done, but I regret not trying harder to push through what was likely just a little nursing strike.
But again, instead of feeling that, I immediately went to a place of pointing fingers. Judgy mom. Shaming me. These lactivists (*eye roll*) etc.
I think this is what happens to so many of us as modern mothers. I think we have grief, and I think because we don’t sense there’s a place for our grief, we don’t feel it. So we join the chorus telling people on the Internet to stop judging and mom-shaming.
There’s a lot of potential for grief in motherhood—fertility issues, a challenging or traumatic birth, breastfeeding struggles, parenting decisions or mistakes we’ve made that feel so, so hard. (Not to mention losing a child, the worst grief most can imagine). Even the loss of our sense of identity or the way we used to live, pre-parenthood. I wonder how different things would be if we were encouraged to feel this grief instead of pretending it doesn’t exist.
I see glimmers. An Instagram friend is a facilitator of women’s circles around the topic of matrescence and I saw that last month’s focus was “grief in motherhood.”6 Someone else runs a regular “Breastfeeding Grief Group,” and I think that’s just beautiful. (Maybe people wouldn’t be so quick to shout fed is best— which is honestly so condescending—at new mothers if it was normal to hold loving space for those for whom breastfeeding was difficult or impossible.)
You might say, I don’t care that I didn’t breastfeed or birth a certain way or whatever else. I’m not saying you should. I’m saying if you feel defensive, that means you do care. And you—and the rest of us—can choose to sit with what’s really there and wanting to come up to guide you.
Of course there are some judgy people out there, and those people are annoying. But is everyone who makes us feel like crap judgy or mom-shaming, or do we have some feelings we need to feel? It’s only when we allow ourselves our real feelings that we can think about how we might be able to make change toward a more meaningful, aligned life.
By the way, we’re homeschooling next year. (The grief is over. Cue the gratitude.)
Where have you felt grief in motherhood? Did you experience it as grief or can you only see that it was unfelt grief looking back? I know this is a tough topic. As always, I welcome your thoughts with an open mind and heart!
Not that school is de facto terrible. Teachers are amazing, and some schools are killin’ it. But generally speaking, it’s still a place where efficiency reigns and originality goes to die. That’s just the facts, folks.
I was still struggling on and off with my mental health, not in any sort of serious way but enough that I knew I couldn’t both be with my kids all the time and be responsible for their education.
It’s Julie from Brave Writer.
I have my theories *cough cough our early childhood experiences.*
I’ll never forget the Christmas Eve service where the middle-aged man next to me started audibly crying during “O Holy Night.” After the service, I overheard him and his wife talking to one of the pastors and the wife said “We’re just so angry.” The tears opened something up.
I’d already started drafting this article. The universe is weird sometimes!
I really enjoyed this piece, so much wisdom here. I was chatting with my mum a few days ago about this idea of “mom guilt” and how actually often when we feel guilt as mothers (or indeed in general) it’s because our actions in some way are not aligned with our values or desires. And so mom guilt can actually serve as an invitation to get curious about things we might want to change. I love how you’ve expanded this idea and so wisely linked it to the grief that often lies behind guilt and defensiveness. So often that grief is what we need to explore, painful though it might feel.
This is so insightful, Amber!
I’ve seen this line a few places - “I sat with my anger long enough, and she told me she was grief” and this has been so true for me.
Anger is easier than grief because it makes us feel like we’re doing something. It also makes us cynical, judgmental and shuts relationships and understanding down. And I have to think you’re right — that so much of our anger hs actually about not having a place to put our grief.
You should look up Dan Allender’s essay, “The Hidden Hope in Lament”. I think it may be one of the most impactful things I’ve ever read about learning to grieve — to lament — well.
https://theallendercenter.org/2016/06/hidden-hope-lament/