How do In know if I am a good parent?

The other day I read an article I think in the Irish Times about how we know if we are a good parent. It’s something I have asked myself nearly every day of my life as a parent. My own self-doubt about my parenting abilities comes most definitely from the fact that as a teenager I was prone to periods of depression. It was something I couldn’t even put a name to as a teenager and even into my young adulthood. There were numerous periods of time where I was lost in my own world of a deep seated sadness; which I couldn’t escape. When I first gave birth I had so many expectations of motherhood, being a good mother, being perfect.  The expectations of perfection I had set for myself were rudely awakened when despite my best efforts I failed to be able to breast feed my child. There was no way I was going to give in this this imperfection, I kept at it attempt after attempt. A member of the healthcare team came to the room on about the third day and said that my son was not getting enough food from me and they were going to have to give me a bottle. I couldn’t let them do this as this was me accepting that I was imperfect, that in truth I had somehow failed as a mother. It took for Shay to come in and make me hand over our son before I would let them feed him. Even after this I kept going with the feeding myself, driving myself into further and deeper depression. Eventually, while at home the district nurse called and realised that there was something wrong. Again, I resisted, I couldn’t accept that I was a failure. What ensued were years of feeling depressed, years of self-doubt and years of believing I just wasn’t good enough. There was a real need in me to prove I could keep a good job going while being a good mother.  I have genuinely struggled with the doubt of whether I am a good parent or not so this article really hit a cord for me. For the past 15 years I have sought to be a good parent as I have long accepted that I cannot be the perfect parent. I have tried to have open conversations about my depression and depression in general with my children. I have sought to ensure that they were confident, articulate, honest and value themselves; values that I believe are important in this day and age. Every day I look at my children and delight in their abilities, their confidence, their seeming ability to try new things and conquer their fears. Sometimes when I see this I think that I am doing a decent job parenting, but the reality is that you really don’t know if you are a good parent or not. Children have a way of making you feel special but they also have a way of making you feel bad. Tonight as I write this I have a child who is struggling, a child that despite my best efforts I can’t seem to help, a child who I know will grow despite this struggle. I just wish I could be a better parent and help them, guide them and let them know that no matter what happens your parents are the ones who will always love you the most and while we might not always agree, it is the parents that love you that are prepared to take the risk that you might think less of them so that in the end you can have a better life. 

The dreaded "H" word and I am not talking about Hilary!

For the last few weeks I have simply been unable to write, even as I sit here and type I am wondering what in God’s name is going on that I can’t think long enough about any subject so that I can manage even the slightest of views. Has my life become so mundane, grey and boring that there is nothing to write about? But that couldn’t be further from the truth so much is happening I can barely keep on top of things, there simply isn’t enough of me to go around all the things I have to do, and that’s saying something. I have however, come to the conclusion that I need to prioritise what I do with my time. All too often I am easily led off on a path that really has no benefit in the long run, now don’t get me wrong many of these paths are with friends and I couldn’t live without them but sometimes I find myself doing “nothings”. Sitting endlessly watching the latest posts on Facebook; mindless, mumbling's about nothing, well nothing of any real interest to all the things I have yet to do. So it seems I must try to establish some priority areas, the problem is these “priority” areas aren’t really that much fun, in fact several of them are mind numbing and several are well to put it mildly “just too boring for words” like housework!

Housework is my arch nemesis; I can’t stand it, I despise cleaning the house, it very rarely if ever fills me with a sense of delight, a sense of achievement or even a modicum of anything other than boredom and dread. On reflection over the years with my mother on the topic of housework her advice is a very sensible start with just one room, pick a room, any room and give it a good clean from corner to corner. I listen to her advice and have on occasion really taken it to heart and tried to give one room a very comprehensive “going over” well in my mind. In reality the truth is a little bit more well let’s just say grey.  I start with a flourish and I pick a room, I walk in, I challenge myself to get to it, I spend about 15 minutes thinking about where to start and what makes sense. I pick as many of the big things I can to start and then I just get bored, so bored I can’t stick the room. So bored I convince myself I need coffee and maybe a biscuit to keep my energy levels, so I take a break. Now this is where it all starts to go pear shaped, because as I am on a break and feeling tired, I decide to text or tweet or go on Facebook or look up something of extreme importance on the net. When I eventually convince myself to go back to the room, motivation is at an all-time low, I peer into the room and see the utter chaos, everything that needs to be sorted is all over the place, there are no homes for this stuff, it’s a mess of clutter, its calling me, it suffocating me, I can’t breathe, I have to escape… and so I return to the bliss of something else that is important for me to look up on the computer, another text to send or a tweet to compose. I convince myself that these are all highly worthy causes and the “room” needs to wait. I will never have a tidy house, I’m not sure I even know what that truly looks like, but I am going to blame the man or should I say priest whose name I was given. He really put a hex on me where housework is concerned, he told Mammy that our house was not untidy just lived in, and that people weren’t coming to see the house they were coming to see us. Our house just like my parents’ house is  one built on friendship and an open door, so if you call here you will always get tea but I may have to move a couple of boxes of this and that to find you space at the table.