Mothers Are People Too - Let's Ditch Mom Guilt

The MotherHood: Vulnerable Stories from Powerful Mothers

Mothers Are People Too - Let's Ditch Mom Guilt

Written by Jenn Todling

No one really prepares you for the reality of being a mom. The baby showers, childbirth classes, and daycare tours are small rehearsals for the unscripted play that begins the moment a child is placed in your arms. I wasn’t prepared. How could I be?

I struggled from the start. Getting pregnant was a battle of patience and heartbreak—two years of monthly negative test results, quiet tears when friends announced their pregnancies (on the first try), and the emotional toll of fertility treatments. Struggles I rarely talked about with others. When the pregnancy test finally showed those longed-for lines, I stared in disbelief.

But the challenges didn’t stop there. Being labeled a “geriatric mother” at 38 felt like an unkind joke. Complications at the end of the third trimester led to a failed induction and an unplanned c-section. Then came the challenges of breastfeeding—a baby with a tongue tie that wouldn’t latch, recovering from major surgery, and a low milk supply. I wished someone had prepared me for the challenges that I faced. I did my best to pivot to donor milk and exclusive pumping, but the process felt like a ball and chain. Guilt and inadequacy whispered in my ear, drowning out the joy I thought I was supposed to feel. I felt alone in my mismatched expectations.

The physical toll bled into my mental health. Postpartum discussions with my doctor about anxiety became routine. Screaming baby in arms, meltdowns became my unwelcome companions when major decisions had to be made. My husband was a loving, hands-on father, marveling at our little roly-poly miracle, but I couldn’t access the awe I had envisioned. I wondered if I was cut out to be a mom after all.

Of course, I loved my daughter fiercely. She was the dream I had prayed for. But the baby stage drained me. It took over a year to find a version of myself I could recognize again.

The toddler years, layered with the chaos of a dual-income household in a global pandemic, stretched me to my limits. Parenting a highly sensitive child required patience I often felt I didn’t have. Setting boundaries, staying consistent, and managing potty training were mountains I climbed daily. At one point, I returned to therapy after catching myself in a moment of self-harm, overwhelmed by frustration. Parenting was a secret club of hard truths no one fully explains until you’re initiated. And no one seemed to be freely sharing their parenting struggles as I navigated my own.

But something shifted as my daughter turned four and then five. The storms of toddlerhood gave way to lighter days filled with preschool giggles (and in person care), heartwarming conversations, and glimpses of the amazing person she was becoming. I realized something profound: I didn’t have to love every stage of motherhood to love my child. I wasn’t a newborn mom or a toddler mom—I was a preschool mom. And that was okay.

Yet, even as parenting became less physically exhausting, the battle to prioritize myself remained.

“Mommy, please don’t work out while I dance.” My daughter’s plea came during one of her weekend ballet class when I told her I planned to exercise while she danced. Her requests—don’t go to the store (when I desperately needed a break), don’t leave for choir practice—weren’t new. Each one tugged at my recovering people-pleaser heart. It’s not easy to leave or stay emotionally regulated when your child clings to your legs, their disappointment written across their face. I struggled to imagine my daughter unsatisfied with my parenting approach.

Cue the mom guilt.

In the early years, I would have caved. I would’ve sat in the waiting room, scrolling through my phone, stewing in frustration at my aching muscles and lack of movement. But this time, something had shifted. I took a few deep breaths to regulate myself. And instead of giving in, I calmly explained that taking care of myself was important too. I reminded her that I was just next door if she needed me. Then I went to the gym. I knew that her dance class was the only hour during the weekend that I would have a dedicated moment to myself, and the gym was next to the dance class (I could see the door if she needed me), so there was no need to feel guilty about it.

That decision was a turning point. In choosing myself in that moment, I wasn’t dismissing my daughter’s needs—I was showing her that my needs mattered too (and giving her a model to honor her own needs as she matured). I wasn’t raising another people pleaser. And as an older mom, I reminded myself that prioritizing my health was helping me be around to support my little girl for as long as possible. As I shared this story with a few trusted mom friends, I was met with support. I realized that we don’t have to tackle the mom journey alone.

I know I am not alone in the desire to invest time in rediscovering the version of myself that existed before I added mom to my resume. Still, societal pressures don’t make it easy to prioritize yourself. The visions of what it takes to be a good mom often focus on being everything to everyone, often at the expense of one’s own well-being. The term “dad guilt” doesn’t carry the same weight because, in my experience, it doesn’t exist in the same way. My husband can shrug off our daughter’s disappointment and carry on, unscathed. It doesn’t affect him at his core. Meanwhile, I field calls from my mom friends riddled with self-doubt, wondering if they’re loving or supporting their kids enough, all while their own mental health frays. And when I hold up the mirror to remind them of their brilliance, they take a deep breath in relief.

The reality is most of us are crushing it even when it feels hard. This is something six years as a parent has finally taught me. As a working mom coach friend of mine so eloquently stated – “mom guilt is a choice.” That phrase has become a daily mantra for me. I refuse to let guilt define my motherhood. I don’t need to be a parenting martyr. I deserve better than that. I am a person too.

At a retreat I attended, a powerful question was posed: “Are you pouring from an overflowing cup or an empty one?” That question stuck with me. I want to give to my family and my work, but I can’t do that well if I’m constantly running on fumes.

So, I’ve started investing in myself unapologetically. I make time for barre classes during the week and prioritize an hour of childcare on weekends to focus on my physical health. As a former pre-professional dancer, returning to the barre feels like coming home. It’s grueling, yes, but the exhilaration of finishing a class—feeling strong, capable, and grounded—is worth every sore muscle. Is it still hard to leave the house with my daughter wanting me to stay? Yes. But I do it anyway.

I’m committed to building not just physical endurance but also emotional resilience. I want to be lighter, freer, and more joyful, and I know that starts with me.

I hope to model a different kind of motherhood—not one driven by sacrifice, but one rooted in balance. I want my daughter to see a mom who honors her own needs as much as she honors hers. I want to create a world where we celebrate womanhood alongside motherhood. I am okay approaching life as a “B” mom if that means I am a whole person.

Parenting is messy and imperfect, but it’s also beautiful. I’m learning to embrace that beauty without chasing an unattainable ideal of perfection. I’m writing myself a permission slip each day to show up as I am—flawed, whole, and worthy. And I’m also looking for ways to connect with other moms to help normalize the struggles as well as the triumphs. For me, finding a tribe of support where I can show up without a social media filter, has been a lifeline. Motherhood is not a highlight reel. It’s a real, raw, emotional, wonderful, rollercoaster of emotions that fills your heart and stretches you to your limit.

I want to help create a world where mothers aren’t perpetually exhausted but are thriving because they are refuting the mom guilt and societal pressure to be all serving.

Because as a mom, the world needs who I was made to be.

Jenn Todling is an author, speaker, executive coach, and adjunct instructor at the University of Denver’s Frontline Manager Leadership Program. A former Big 4 audit partner with 20+ years in professional services and an ICF-certified coach for over a decade, she helps clients express their soul in work and life. A lover of adventure, travel, and dance, she lives near Boulder, Colorado, with her husband and daughter. Her memoir, Dancing on My Own Two Feet, was published in April 2025.

You can connect with her at: www.jenntodling.com