I
can unflinchingly write about my deepest secrets. I can be
self-deprecating, write about turmoil and pain and the raw truth, no
problem. I can easily write about feeling like a bad person and a
shitty mother, and I admit, at times I do feel that way.
It is
clear that people want what is raw and honest and the truth. People
want to read about people who struggle and are in pain. The
idiosyncratic parent. The fucked-up hero. The unlikely star.
Parents want to read about one another’s failures. They want to say “me too” to
the secrets and lies of strangers because misery loves company and
people who feel alone want to know that there is no such thing.
Because there is no such thing…
As being alone.
But just as there is no such thing as being alone, there is such thing as being a confident parent. Unfortunately, and for whatever reason, no one feels comfortable saying so.
Including me.
And that’s crazy. And insane. And sad.
So here is the truth. Here is what I have hidden away for the past two years:
I’m
a good mother. I trust my instincts and I am proud of who I am as a
parent. I do not regret a single decision I have made thus far. I love
that I’m not afraid to get dirty in the mud and dance around the house
like a fool and I love that I can make Archer laugh with a single face.
I love that I am unafraid and optimistic and patient. I love that I
take Archer gallivanting
around town to explore unlikely playgrounds. I think I'm positive and
real and a good role model for my son and I think I'm doing a damn good
job with this parenting thing.
There.
I said it.
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