Being an Imperfect Mom in an Insta-Perfect World

You’ve heard the expression, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” It can be interpreted to mean that a picture can tell a story better than words or that you will learn so much more from an image than spoken words.”

 But what happens when my pictures are hiding a thousand words? 

As I scrolled through my Instagram pictures, I realized that I am only showing about half of what my life actually is. 

My perfectly cropped picture is hiding my messy house. The beautifully toned filter is covering up the lack of sleep I got from having young children. After 20 tries and a few death stares, we manage to get one family picture where we are all somewhat looking at the camera.

Why do I do this? Why do I try so hard to hide the reality of my life from others? 

As a mother, I so badly want to be perfect or at least I try to give the appearance of it. I see other moms and their kids and think that they are the standard I need to strive to achieve. 

Why can’t I create my own standards? My kids are going to be happy, not because I created the most memorable, Pinterest-worthy birthday party or because we took them on an expensive and elaborate adventure but simply because we found the simple joys that exist in life. 

A few pictures popped out to me as I scrolled through my Instagram. They brought back so many emotions. Emotions that are not visible on the surface to the naked eye. 

I want to strip away the filters on some of my pictures and let you know the real story. Because, well, this blog is my social media platform that I created and control and I am posting my reality.

So here it is, the truth behind some of my pictures.

This beautiful picture was taken on April 25, 2014 when my first son was born. The day I became a mother. 

I had my personalized gown that I purchased from Etsy just for the hospital and my hair was freshly washed and blow dried. As my husband and I gazed adoringly at our new baby you can’t help but think, “Wow, isn’t new life perfect?”

Reality…my hair was done because this was a scheduled c-section and I had time to shower and get picture-ready before arriving for my “appointment.” I was devastated by the idea of not delivering my baby naturally, but he was breech, and there was almost no other option but surgery. 

The look of admiration and love in our eyes was pure terror and perhaps all the drugs I had been given. My husband and I had no clue what we were doing with this child. The nurse instructed him to lean in and look at the baby and yes, it turned out like perfection. But to be honest, I barely remember this moment and the following 24 hours for that matter. The medication I was given was so strong, I vaguely recall my parents visiting the hospital that day. My blood pressure was being monitored closely and I dreaded trying to get out of bed because the pain was so unbearable. 

But, time has eroded some of these memories and worn them down so they don’t seem quite as bad. Heck, we went on to have two more children despite this delivery. But I do get a very uncomfortable, blurred feeling each time I see that picture.

I look back at this pregnancy picture with mixed feelings as well. I was a few weeks away from delivering my last son. I had done my hair and make-up for once, put on the shirt and jeans that had become my uniform since nothing else fit, and made my husband take no less than 30 pictures at varying angles until I got the perfect shot that didn’t make me look like I had gained 50 lbs (yes 50!). 

When I look back at the picture I think I actually looked pretty good but it is the ONLY picture I have of myself pregnant with this baby. I refused to get in front of the camera.  I never even posted this picture on Instagram.

At this point in pregnancy I felt miserable.  My feet (well whole body) were swelling more than my other two pregnancies, I was exhausted and sore all the time and because of the baby’s position, I could hardly walk the block without feeling pain. 

Guess it shows that the pregnancy glow is only in the eye of the beholder.

This next picture was taken one month into the Covid-19 Pandemic. At the time we were still calling it the Corona Virus. It was new and uncertain. 

We had locked ourselves in our home, fearing the unknown of the outside world. 

It was scary and strange. 

I was isolated and alone in a house of 5 people. 

My best friend, someone I was used to seeing several times a week, walked her kids over to our house and we spoke in-person for the first time in a month, divided by a fence, separated by fear.  She took this picture of us. 

We look happy but inside I was desperate to run out and give her a hug. I wanted to see our kids play together and be free again.

I wanted to tear down this fence. The fence that separated us for the world and created uncertainty and separation in our lives.

I see the smiles on our faces and hope that my kids remember the joy of being together not the fear and confusion that still hits me when I look at it.

The caption I put on this picture when I posted it on Instagram was, “I love this little guy!” 

Yes, I did and still do love this not-so-little-anymore guy, but I also know the state I was in at the time I posted it. 

Ronin was 3 months old. I lived 1.5 hours from my family and best friend. I was lost in motherhood and just 3 weeks before, I got the call that my dad had passed away. It was sudden and life shattering. 

We were in the midst of planning a funeral and making some sense as to what had happened. 

I see my mom’s shadow in this picture and it pains me to know what she was going through.

Yes, I loved that little guy. I kissed him on the cheek and held him up high, giving the impression of sheer adoration, all while I was crumbling inside.  But in the end, we learned that he was the glue that was holding us together when all we felt like doing was fall apart. And for that memory alone, I cherish this photo more than anything.

So the truth comes out. I am a fraud. I am a liar. I have been deceiving the world and myself for most of my motherhood career because I needed the social world to think that I had it all together. Well, I didn’t, and still probably don’t, but for me, that realization can only be described now as “picture perfect.”