The Parenting Fantasy vs. Reality
I really wanted to be the kind of Mum who said the stuff ‘you can’t say’ when it comes to your kids. I wanted other mums to know that when they are with me, they could rock up with their pants on backwards to the mothers group and I’d celebrate them for making it out of the house with everyone still breathing, let alone sober.
The truth is, motherhood for me often feels like being held together with chewing gum and spit. And while I try to be that badass, rule-breaking mum who cheers on everyone’s parenting (including myself), sometimes after a long day, it only takes the tiniest flick of judgment to make me unravel.
Enter the Playground Police
My daughter had been river dancing on my last nerve, and my ‘work from home productivity’ was at an all-time low. Whilst she was playing on the playground, I pulled out my phone to check my work emails briefly. A bloke, mid 30’s walked past me and under his breath said ‘Look at this, try putting your phone down and looking after your kid mate’.
It completely rattled me, he rattled.
I was a new Mum, a first time Mum, a juggling Mum with a full time career, and a toddler. My mental health was being held together by a fresh batch of chewing gum.
The Invisible Weight
The pressure. The mental load. The guilt. Even when you give your kids every single waking hour, it never feels enough… even for a complete stranger aka the playground police, I wasn’t giving enough of me. You’re always behind, always rushing, always trying to hold up someone else’s world while your own is slightly crumbling.
It’s exhausting, at times it can feel borderline inhumane. And yet, we still get judged for daring to take thirty seconds of digital doom scroll on a park bench.
When the Chewing Gum Snaps
When my hubby walked in the door from work that day, I burst into tears. The chewing gum and spit holding me together had finally packed it in and I unravelled like the roll of toilet paper my daughter had been using earlier as a kite.
I’d spent his one hour commute sitting by the front door, waiting for him to rescue me from my poor life decisions.
When the door opened, he scooped me up, not a word was exchanged.
We stood in a silent, sobbing hug for what felt like ever and I could feel my battery recharging as I smeared snot across his work jacket.
Side note: I’d like to take a minute to acknowledge my hubby’s unwavering commitment to not putting me in an institution, which arguably is probably where I belong some days. You know the kind, where you can taste colours, and the walls look like fluffy clouds. Ah the serenity.
Permission Granted: Scroll on your Phone. Take the Break
So here’s my rule-breaking salute, from one tired mama to another: if you’ve managed to keep your kids out of the bin today and get clothes on them, backwards or not. If you’ve survived another round of playground politics while sneaking in a work email or a scroll on your phone, I salute you.
Playgrounds aren’t just jungle gyms for kids; they’re breathing spaces for parents. Those ten minutes on the bench are not wasted time; they’re refuelling time. They’re the moments where we check in with ourselves so we can keep showing up for our little monsters. Without micro breaks, we burn out.
So the next time someone throws shade about you being “on your phone,” here’s your reminder: you’re allowed to have a break. You can smile and say, “Thanks, I’ve got this,” or you can keep it internal with a gentle mantra: “I’m present, I’m doing enough, and I’m allowed to rest.” Or head home and allow yourself to crumble. Sometimes we need a good cry.
But remember that advocating for yourself can simply be giving yourself some space, and even after some big feelings, standing firm in the truth that you’re a damn good mum, taking a good mum break. Guilt-free. End of story.
Xo Bonnie