You’re Not Horrible. You’re Tired.

There’s A Difference.

M.B.

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Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash

I’m constantly in awe of good parents. Do you know how much work it takes to be a good parent? Anyone with a working uterus can birth a child, and you can foster/adopt with the right criteria. But being a good parent? In this day and age? The balls on you. I barely got myself through a global pandemic intact, and you had toddlers and teenagers to wrestle.

One friend of mine went to therapy and started medication. Another became a sober badass. Another left an un-affirming community out of love for her son. On and on it goes.

People who understood that taking care of another human takes considerable self-awareness, consistency, and healthy habits and went “I will love and nurture my child, and I cannot do that without examining myself.” They’re some of my heroes.

Throughout lockdown and pandemic restrictions, my spirit longed to be of help and was drowning in turns. It seemed every parent I knew just needed a goddamn break and weren’t getting it.

Managing work and online schooling and virtual assignments and bills and partners and pets and existential dread and ever-changing mandates and friendships. At one point or another, most commented that they were horrible parents and/or people.

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