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I have been a mother for about thirty-five years. With the birth of my first child, my maternal instincts began to surface.
I loved my children and wanted to do a good job raising them. I wanted to see them happy, successful, and secure.
My perfectionist tendencies kicked in, too. I wanted to be the best mom and have the best family. I wanted this for my children’s sake, of course. But I have to admit that my motives were mixed. Part of me wanted the perfect family as evidence of my worth as a person.
Searching for Approval. My perfectionism carried over into my new identity as a mother. Often, when I did something that I considered less than perfect, it ate away at my confidence. I never knew when this feeling might erupt, but I suffered from its consequences—self-doubt and guilt.
One day I put my infant daughter on our bed to take a nap. When she woke…
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