I Thought I'd Be a Better Mum Than Her

Before I became a mother, I had this friend who was struggling. Overwhelmed, exhausted, constantly losing her patience with her kid. I'd watch her snap and think, "I wouldn't do that. I know better. I studied early childhood education. I understand how a mother's stress affects a child's development."

When I offered to babysit or shared what I'd learnt, I thought I was being supportive. But I wasn't, really. I was just stood there on my high horse of zero actual experience, silently judging someone who was in the thick of it whilst I theorised from the sidelines.

The truth I didn't see then, the truth I only understood after becoming a mother myself, is that my judgement had nothing to do with her. It was about me. About being terrified of becoming exactly that—the overwhelmed mum who loses it. The one who knows all the right things to do but still can't hold it together when it matters.

I needed to believe I'd be different. That my education would protect me somehow. That I'd cracked some code she simply hadn't worked out yet. My judgement of her was really just me trying to distance myself from a future I was terrified of. If I could point at her and think "not me, I'd never," then maybe I could convince myself it wouldn't happen to me.

Except it did.

When I finally became a mother, I became exactly what I'd judged. Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Losing my patience in ways I swore I never would. Standing in my kitchen at the end of a long day, hearing myself snap at my child, and thinking, "Oh. So this is what she felt."

And here's the thing that really got me: the person I'd been judging all that time? She was fine. Still doing her best, still getting through it, completely unbothered by my silent critique because she never even knew it existed.

The person who actually suffered from my judgement? That was only ever me. Carrying around all that weight, all that superior positioning, all that fear dressed up as expertise. And then later, the shame of realising I wasn't any better. That I'd wasted all that energy judging someone for something I didn't understand, only to end up in the exact same place.

We do this, don't we? Judge people harshest for the things we're most afraid of becoming. As if our criticism of them will somehow inoculate us against their fate. It doesn't, of course. It just makes us unkind. And then, when we inevitably find ourselves in their shoes, it makes us feel worse about it.

It's always easy to judge until it's you dealing with it.

I've been sitting with this realisation for a while now, turning it over, trying to understand why I felt the need to position myself above her when really, we were always going to end up in the same boat. I think it's because admitting she was doing her best would have meant admitting that doing your best sometimes looks like chaos. And I wasn't ready to accept that about myself yet.

So here's what I want to say, to you and to myself: be kind to others, even when you think you understand their situation. Especially then. Because the truth is, you don't. Not really. Not until you've lived it. And even if you never do live it, your judgement of them doesn't help anyone. It just weighs on you.

And if you're the one feeling overwhelmed right now, if you're the one losing your patience and wondering why it's all so impossibly hard, I've just set up a Facebook community for With Whispers. It's meant to be a space where we can talk openly about our struggles without judgement, where we can lift each other up instead of silently comparing ourselves.

You can join here:

Join the unbecoming club

You're doing better than you think. Even on the days it doesn't feel like it.