Please Don't Call Me "Supermom"
Please don't call me Supermom. Here's why. If a superhero accomplishes something amazing, like getting out of bed and getting dressed and showing up,
even though she is depressed and anxious and feels like she's falling apart, people think, "well, yeah, she is a superhero, she kicks evil's ass for breakfast, so yeah, she showed up to whatever her kids needed to do today, with lunches made and sunscreen
sprayed. Of course she did. I mean, she's a freaking superhero."
But I am NOT.
I have no cape, I have no magic powers (full disclosure, my kisses ARE more effective on BooBoos than a placebo). I am just a mom, an exhausted, impatient, grumpy mom, struggling my way through depression, wanting nothing more than to binge watch project runway or start Grey's over again and keep the blinds pulled tight. Choking down my anxiety every day to just take my kids out into the world, driving across the reservoir, white knuckling it all the way. Barely hanging on. Smiling at my husband, and feeling like a failure because the house is always a mess and I dealt with someone else's breakdown this morning instead of taking time to bathe. I have no powers, every little thing seems so hard, so huge. Some days, I want to give up and go back to bed. Some weeks it's most days.
Please don't call me “Supermom.” It invalidates the work I'm doing just to function, sometimes barely. It implies that any of this is easy. Or that it doesn't take constant work to keep it together. I may be strong, but I sure don't feel it. I am exhausted. I am an imperfect person trying desperately to be all that my kids deserve, failing miserably, and still getting dressed the next day and doing it all over again.
So you...yeah, YOU, you may not be super either. But you fought your own demons today, didn't you? You got up, you got dressed, you did some of the things. YOU ARE STILL HERE AND I AM SO GLAD. I AM SO THANKFUL FOR YOU. Keep being here. I know it's hard, believe me I KNOW it's hard sometimes. Sometimes it's hard all the time. But I'm here to tell you you don't need a cape.
Just. Keep. Breathing.