The Myth Of The Perfect Mother: Who Pays The Price?

I never questioned my mother as a child about what she dreamed of, about who she wanted to be, or what she believed she might have become. These were unasked questions that remained unanswered due to the emotional burden that comes with being a parent. She gave me love and care, yet she never made any demands for herself and lived selflessly all the time. She was a woman with her own goals and objectives, yet to me, she embodied the quintessential motherhood as I grew up. She did not wish to be silent; rather, the world deprives woman of their freedom. A young girl who fantasises about having a child who will dedicate everything she is to the child and be a mother who is giving, loving, kind, and there for you no matter what. This reiterates the ideal depiction of a perfect mother.

However, what if "the perfect mother," as you envision or see in movies, is a myth? Mothers are our first teachers and give birth to us, but they also face challenges of their own. We try to feed false lies into our minds to convince ourselves that our mothers' innocence is an act of their choice and generosity of spirit. However, as I got older, I started to doubt this idealisation. Is a mother’s quiet an act of liberation, or did systems of oppression desire to silence women? Were these unseen sacrifices our mothers make truly out of love or out of obligation, and being devoid of any other choice?

The Burden of Innocence: How We Perpetuate Generational Oppression

I now understand that my mother’s innocence was a survival strategy rather than a right. She never asked why she had to give so much and get so little in return. She never questioned why her passions and wishes were regarded as secondary. To control women and make them feel that their actual worth lies in sacrifice, this "quiet compliance" was a type of forced naivete, to help them brainwash mothers into believing this is how they should morally act. After one deep conversation with her, I viewed her less as a mother and more as a human, and every word she spoke broke my heart. When my mother is alone and thinking, I imagine a world in which she had the same freedoms as I: the freedom to choose whatever she wants without regard for what other people think. 

I see her not only as a mother but also as a woman who could have been anything she wanted to be. This article is a silent tribute against everything that has been taken from her,  an ode to her being just beyond her ‘innocence.’ Rewriting my mother's tale is a profound urge I have. To break the silence that moulded her life. To write her differently would be to honour. At 22, I've come to realise that she is more than just my mother; she is a human who has endured a lot and has managed to create an incredible life for herself at home and work. She has witnessed everything, from caring for her family to calming irascible behaviour during our youth and watching us regain our feet. Although she hasn't had an easy life, she has done a lot for her family.

Unveiling the Unseen Burden: The Ideal of Perfection Placed on Mothers

Mothers are not flawless. They struggle; they constantly doubt themselves and undergo anguish; they are constantly overworked and undoubtedly ignored. Patriarchy is one factor that truly drives mothers to become silent. As a social structure, patriarchy rejects mothers' humanity. Mothers are not superwomen or goddesses who are capable of everything; they are human beings with complex personalities. I realise that by rewriting my mother's tale, I am also rewriting mine as I start to forge a life for myself.

Every decision I make, the path I embrace, and every glass ceiling I break are silent protests against what was forced upon her. I break the cycle by choosing to live my life on my terms, something she was never allowed to do in her earlier days. Her silence did not mark the end of her story; it is still retold and rewritten in me.

Every time I put my own needs ahead of other people's expectations of me, we both win. She was not at fault for remaining silent. The world was. But in those moments when I  decide to speak for myself, I also speak up for her. By doing so, I take a little bit of the happiness for myself. Not only am I happy today, but she is too. In a way, the voice I have now has also become her voice. I now bear the duty of carrying, speaking, and living out loud what she yearned to do in solitude.

I see more than just my mother's silence when I look at her now; I see the strength that kept her going. This Mother's Day, let's do more than just celebrate, let's rewrite the age-old narrative, let's ask our mothers who they want to be before they were told who they ought to be. 

Views expressed by the author are their own