It’s Time We Stop Treating Motherhood as the Final Destination
Motherhood is sacred.
But somewhere along the way, it also became a performance.
An unpaid internship.
A lifelong job you can never resign from — and one you weren’t even asked if you wanted.
We’re handed baby books and milestone charts.
We follow social media pages for how to stimulate fine motor skills by 9 months.
We become unpaid researchers, nutritionists, handwriting experts, speech therapists.
We deep-dive into everything from poop colour to pencil grip.
Because somewhere we’ve absorbed the idea that the kind of rattle they hold at 8 months will decide their Ivy League fate.
No one says it out loud, but the pressure is everywhere:
Are you maternal enough?
Are you involved? Or detached?
Too ambitious? Or not attentive enough?
If your baby cries, it’s because of something you did.
If they’re slow to speak, you’re blamed.
If they’re too quiet, too loud, too skinny, too clingy — it always circles back to the mother.
And yes, you love your children. Fiercely.
But there are moments when you catch yourself —
obsessing over their snack box contents or googling developmental charts at midnight —
and wonder: When did this become my identity?
Not out of resentment.
But out of realisation.
Because motherhood is sold to us as this glorious completion — but no one talks about how often it becomes Project Baby.
The way school interviews feel like startup pitches.
The way illnesses become crisis management.
The way hobbies are curated for personality development.
And suddenly you’re managing not just humans, but brand identities.
And while the world coos at the “cute kids,”
they forget who’s behind the curtain.
Who’s printing worksheets at 1am.
Who’s cleaning vomit and attending Zoom meetings back-to-back.
Who’s raising children while trying to remember she’s a person, not just a provider.
The truth is:
Children come without manuals, but mothers are expected to be experts.
From day one.
Forever.
And while we obsess over whether they’re “hitting milestones,” no one asks if we are!
No one checks if we’re okay.
If we’ve eaten. If we’ve slept. If we even recognise ourselves anymore.
This isn’t about motherhood being terrible.
It’s about the complete absence of choice and reflection we’re allowed before we’re shoved into it.
We were taught to chase the idea of motherhood — not to ask what it would actually look like for us.
And maybe that’s where the conversation needs to start. Because this isn’t just about asking, “How are you doing?”
That question alone won’t dismantle a system.
This is about unlearning everything we were fed —
from cereal box mascots to glossy diaper commercials —
that told us motherhood was the final, most fulfilling checkbox on a woman’s life list.
It’s about questioning why we were never asked if we wanted this role — just applauded for performing it well.
It’s about admitting that one-size-fits-all motherhood doesn’t fit anyone adn everyone.
It’s about asking harder questions:
What does it cost to be the “perfect mom”?
Who gets to rest? Who gets to choose?
And why are women still bending themselves into versions of motherhood designed to make everyone else comfortable?
Because maybe the real milestone isn’t your baby walking by 12 months — maybe it’s you walking away from what you were told you had to become. Maybe it’s time we stop treating motherhood as every woman’s default purpose — and start treating it as one of many possible paths.
That love, success, and fulfillment come in many shapes —
and not all of them involve a crib and a calendar of developmental milestones.
