A few weeks ago, during a therapy session, my youngest daughter was given the task to — from a large collection of action figures, dolls, Barbies, figurines, and small trinkets — choose one character to represent each person in her family. Then, describe why she chose each one.

For me, she chose a figurine of a woman in a red, 1960s bikini, reclining in a round, pink pool float. Strange choice, I thought. When I asked her why she chose that figurine to represent me, she simply said, “Because, Mommy, you are always relaxing.” 

Stunned. I had somehow done it. I had somehow been intentional and consistent enough in my self-care that my eight-year-old daughter saw rest as something I “always” do. As who I am. I couldn’t have been prouder of myself. I must have been beaming.  

I wonder if a few years ago her selection would have been different. Because, back then, I was a different mom. I was Supermom. I was over-stretched, always tired. Angry. I had poor boundaries and I had grown bitter and resentful. Something in me knew that I could change and that I ought to. I wanted to reject  the lie of Supermom and become the mom I wanted to be.  

I wanted to be Aligned Mom. 

Happy Mom. 

Say-No-Sometimes Mom. 

Put-Myself-First Mom. 

And I did it. I became her.  I rejected the lie of Supermom. Supermoms are strong; they are capable — they get everything done. They are the first one up and the last one in bed. They never stop. They are tired. They do it all.

The idea of the Supermom has been pushed so hard that it’s become a permanent, pervasive, oppressive branding. More than aspirational, a Supermom is indeed the revered mom, the quintessential mom, the “holy” mom. Supermom has, so deeply and completely, overtaken our ideals of motherhood, that we can easily think we’re crazy for talking ourselves out of the pressure and danger of Supermom.

When most people offer praise to a Supermom, they mean to acknowledge her skill, care, and commitment. I don’t think they know that their words often land like an added brick in the backpack she’s been carrying for so long. I wish they understood that Supermom would gladly remove her cape, if she could.

I have never met a Supermom who aspires to be more of a Supermom than she already is. Instead, what a mom really wants is more time to be present and enjoy her kids. More time for the things she loves. More time to relax. More time.

So, for all the moms who are ready to relax and take off their “I Can Do It All” capes, let these words sink in deep:

My glory in motherhood is not unbridled self-sacrifice.

My glory in motherhood is not false humility that grows into martyrdom.

My glory in motherhood is not giving my children everything and myself nothing.

My glory in motherhood is showing my children that rest and relaxation are as normal and needed as the air we breathe. 

My glory in motherhood is balanced availability and care to my kids and to myself. 

My glory in motherhood is being okay with disappointing my kids sometimes. 

My glory in motherhood is making sure my kids see me grow and laugh and do things I love. 

My glory in motherhood is ripping down the “I Can Do It All” banner and, instead, wrapping myself in the “But I’m Not Going To” banner.