It was Valentine’s Day and my son had brought home his bag of valentines from his classmates. As we looked over what he received, I spotted a homemade heart-shaped crayon. I’m pretty sure I groaned out loud. Seriously? One of the moms made homemade crayons? In the shape of a heart? How is that even possible? Did she melt them? Then use a mold? I had managed to get my son out the door with store-bought valentines and had felt pretty good about that! But this mom had taken Valentine’s Day to a whole new level—a level that seemed decidedly out of reach for me, a person who does not know the first thing about making homemade crayons.
I felt discouraged—again. Every time I turn around, it feels like there is a new chance to feel badly about some aspect of my mothering. I remember thinking to myself, “Is every occasion an occasion for mom guilt?” That’s how intrusive mom guilt can be. Normal, everyday moments become opportunities to grade my mothering. These evaluations happen fast, almost instinctively. And with mom guilt, you never get a good grade—hence, the guilt. If you were to narrate the guilt, it might
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