I’ve often wondered what it takes to be a “good mother.” Growing up, my mother set a high standard, and now I find myself questioning if I could ever live up to it.

I don’t think I’ll ever be a “good mother” and I don’t know how to feel about that.

I've come to notice everything that my mum does in the house, and I have begun to wonder if I could ever do the same.

From waking up very early in the morning to make food for the whole house, before she goes to work; to keeping in her head who amongst my siblings and I have not had our bath or brushed our teeth.

She makes sure that we don’t live in filth. Without her, the house would probably be like a pig sty.

She makes sure we are studying well in school and reading our books. She ensures we have eaten. In general, she puts all our matters for her head.

I'm not a what you would call “wife material” and I’ve made my peace with that, after all I didn’t come to this life to be a wife. But the joys of motherhood is something I would love to enjoy.

Raising a child, breastfeeding, and even getting to see them walk for the first time.

But if motherhood entails me waking up before everyone and ensuring they are okay before me, then I’m not sure that I want to do that.

If it means I have to make sure another human being has had their bath and brushed their teeth, then I’m not sure that I’m up for that.

I barely have the strength to take care of myself and do basic things. I can’t imagine adding a whole other human to the mix.

Does that make me a bad person? Or does that make me a person?

When most people think of a mother, they think of this ever-nurturing, all-sacrificing being, that always puts her children first.

What of the mothers that are not all sacrificing and the ones that aren’t so nurturing or soft and gooey? Are they not good mothers too?

Because best believe that if I ever became a mother, I would not be all sacrificing and ever nurturing.

I would probably be the type of mum who forgets if her children have brushed their teeth. I would most likely let the house go into disarray and I would never wake up at an ungodly hour to cook for the house. (That’s just not happening)

I just don’t have the qualities of what society thinks a good mother looks like. That should not matter, but it does. I shouldn’t care, but I do.

I don’t want my children to grow up to resent me and I don't want them to look at other people’s mothers and wish I was more like that.

I remember an incident that happened when I was younger. One of my aunts had just stopped breastfeeding her child at say three months? I can’t remember, but it was a much younger age than expected.

What I do remember was silently judging her and thinking that she wasn’t a “good mum”. In my mind, mothers were supposed to breastfeed their children even if it wasn’t convenient for them, especially then. After all, that’s what makes a mother, a mother.

I’ve come a long way since then. But imagine me, newly ten (I barely had breasts then), judging a full-grown mum. The fact that I even thought that I had a right to judge her is laughable and something to be ashamed of.

This just shows how deeply ingrained these unrealistic expectations we put on mothers go. Thank God I’ve been able to grow and develop my mind from that narrow and damaging POV.

As I reflect on my own reservations about potentially becoming a mother someday, I can’t help but grapple with the ingrained expectations that have been instilled in me from a young age. The reality is, I don’t possess the qualities that society traditionally upholds as markers of a “good mother.” I’m not naturally nurturing, I struggle with basic self-care at times, and the idea of subsuming my needs for those of children fills me with trepidation.

Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that somehow, by defying those idealized notions of motherhood, I would be failing at one of life’s most sacred roles. The judgmental voice of my 10-year-old self still echoes, berating my aunt for her parenting choices that deviated from the norm. It’s a stark reminder of how deeply these unrealistic expectations are embedded within us.

But I’ve come to realize that judging a mother’s worth based on superficial metrics like household tidiness or adherence to rigid norms is misguided and harmful. My own mother was extraordinary not because she awakened at dawn to cook elaborate meals, but because of her steadfast presence and the depth of her love for us.

Perhaps the greatest gift I can give my potential children is the knowledge that mothers come in all forms — some nurturing, others more hands-off; some prioritizing domesticity, and others pursuing external passions. What matters most is the commitment to show up, listen, and love unconditionally, even when we fail to live up to those lofty ideals.

So, while I may never be the “good mother” society has prescribed, I’m slowly making peace with the fact that I can be a mother in my own way — flawed, authentic, and wholeheartedly devoted to my children’s wellbeing, even if my methods look a little different.