Motherhood Guilt and Love

Shame and guilt in motherhood are very real emotions. I think most mothers feel them at one point or another. I know that I do. Not because I am deliberately doing anything wrong, but because the outside world has a way of laying those feelings on you.

I am deeply, completely in love with my boys. That love stretches into every corner of motherhood, even the dark and difficult places every mother eventually walks through. When you love your children this much, other deep emotions come with it. The constant desire for them to be safe. To be healthy. To be happy. To have every opportunity available to them.

As they get older, I find myself thinking about those opportunities more and more. I am looking farther down the road now, trying to understand which paths might lead them toward a full and successful childhood, and eventually into adulthood. Parenting is full of crossroads like this. There are so many directions you can take.

How to parent.
How to discipline.
How to teach.
How to care.
How to lead.
How to love.

Most days, I feel like I have a pretty good sense of what I’m doing. But every so often, I hear a comment or notice a look from someone that makes me pause and question everything. It makes me ask myself the question every mother quietly asks at some point:

Am I doing this right?

When I first became a mother with Clover, there was no shortage of opinions about what I should and should not do. I was told not to cosleep. Not to take contact naps. Not to let him fall asleep while nursing. I was warned that these things would create bad habits, that I was setting myself up for problems later on.

I tried to understand these judgments. I really did. But something inside me kept saying it didn’t feel right. So I followed what felt natural for Clover and me. I did it with a fair amount of guilt, though, not the kind that comes from knowing you’re doing something wrong, but the kind that grows when others make you feel like you are.

When Murphy was born, I was tandem nursing both boys. One day a friend was there helping, and she saw me nursing them at the same time. She looked at me with visible disgust, made a comment, and walked away.

Looking back now, I realize she wasn’t really a friend at all. Because what woman, what mother, shames another mother for feeding and comforting her children?

Time has a way of clarifying these moments. When I look back now, I know I made the right choices. Clover sleeps independently. He is deeply attached to me in a healthy way, not in an insecure way. He plays with curiosity and independence. All those warnings about the “bad habits” I was supposedly creating never came to pass.

Now that the boys are getting older, new questions are appearing. Clover is starting to want friends to play with. I have always felt drawn toward homeschooling, but I find myself wondering if choosing that path might take something away from him. And not that homeschooling means isolation.

I’m standing at that familiar place in the road again, where I have to slow down and look in every direction. I have to study the map and think through the possibilities. What if I sent him to a Montessori school a few days a week?

Who would he be socializing with?
Who would be caring for him?
Would he be comfortable in a group setting?
Would he be okay being away from home that long?

And the same questions come for Murphy.

But then another set of possibilities enters my mind.

What if he finds a good friend there?
What if he forms a meaningful bond with a teacher?
What if he goes to school two days a week, and the other three days I continue teaching him at home?

Perhaps the wisest thing is simply to try it, and see.

While I navigate these decisions, I can still hear the familiar background noise of judgment. The quiet commentary. The opinions. The subtle shaming that seems to surround motherhood these days. I hear it, but I don’t fully listen to it. Because the last time I ignored those voices and followed my instincts instead, it turned out I made the right choice.

And this extends into many areas of motherhood. Even something as simple as being out in a social setting with other mothers. If I’m speaking with someone and my attention isn’t on my children every single second, there are often looks or comments that suggest I should feel guilty for that. Never mind that I am not taking my children anywhere unsafe. Never mind that mothers are human beings who are allowed to have conversations, to exist in the world alongside their children.

The idea that people feel comfortable watching, judging, and commenting on another mother’s choices has somehow become normal. Over time, I’ve learned something important: you have to quiet the noise. It isn’t easy, but it is necessary. Because at the end of the day, I know my children better than anyone else. I know their personalities. I know what they can handle, what they need, and what helps them thrive.

Not the random mother who thinks breastfeeding is disgusting.
Not the part-time parent offering opinions from the sidelines.
Not even well-meaning elders who raised children decades ago in a very different world.

But I also don’t ignore the emotions that rise up within me. When guilt or shame appears, I pay attention to it. Sometimes those feelings carry important information. Sometimes they are simply echoes of other people’s voices.

The key, I’ve learned, is knowing the difference. I listen to the instinct inside me that tells me what is right for my boys. I allow space for reflection. I stay open to learning. But I do not allow guilt or shame to rule the way I mother. Because the truth is, loving your children deeply will always invite opinions from the outside world.

But raising them well requires learning when to close the door to those voices, and trust the one inside you instead.