Every Morning I Doubt My Mothering, and Most Days I Embrace My Imperfection

I know am not the only parent cracking open, so when I wake up to the list my inner critic has been writing all night long, I turn inward with compassion.

It only feels heavy because it is pure gold.

I wake up most mornings overflowing with doubts.

Am I on the right path? Am I taking care of this body well enough? This mind? This home? Am I a good enough teacher? Partner? Citizen of the world? Yoga practitioner? Friend?

Most of all, I doubt my mothering.

These doubts aren’t the kind easily soothed by external validation, although when I see the thoughtful and decisive way my son relates, my trust in him overcomes the doubt I have in myself.

I wake up with thoughts. Judgment is my default setting, and every morning I have a choice. The factory setting switches on, and begins its program of ‘should haves’. These are more incisive than the doubts. These thoughts are the pain of my past bubbling up and taking it out on the present me, inflicting suffering to feel less alone in it. There is a long list of things I have done wrong, mostly from the day before but some from way back. This part of me believes I am never enough.

There is just eno…