Please Don’t Call Me SUPERMOM


Please don’t call me SUPERMOM.  

I truly appreciate that while I’m out and around town with three young children in tow, you see me. You see my struggles, the effort it takes to be where I am, the fear in my eyes awaiting tantrums or a runaway child. Thank you for understanding what it takes for me to be anywhere in public and to have some small level of control over my brood. I love that you empathize with what the past four years have been like. Most likely, you have been in my shoes once yourself.

Compliments always make me feel uncomfortable. I never really know what to say and when I respond, I never know if it was the appropriate response. My social awkwardness tends to run amuck at these complimentary moments.

How do I respond to being called super when I feel anything but? Being called a supermom makes me feel the opposite of super; it makes my mind spiral into all the reasons I’m not super.

I yell too often. I don’t live in the moment and play enough when my children ask me to, and I allow snacks for lunch and butter sandwiches for dinner. And if I had supermom powers, then why does this all seem so hard?

What makes me most uncomfortable is that you are implying that you are anything less than super yourself by calling me a supermom. The number of children we have does not predict our greatness. Aren’t all moms super? Don’t we all do the best we can, no matter what, that is 24/7/365? More importantly, don’t we all have our bad days?

I have many bad days, and if you catch me in a moment that looks super, please know that it can all fall apart very quickly. Don’t think that I am doing anything more significant than what you do as a parent every day. I do the best I can for my family, but I am not in any way super, at least no more super than all moms are. 

So when you see me, spare the compliments and shoot me a smile or strike up a conversation. I’ll be smiling back, happy to have a connection with someone over the age of four.


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