You didn’t know that I’d flipped my car mirror down to check if my eyes were still red before hauling my toddler into the store.
You didn’t see me sitting on the bed, sniveling quietly as I could while my toddler screamed for me from her timeout spot for the fourth time that morning.
You didn’t see the cortisol that spiked in my blood as she sprinted towards a street of speeding cars.
You didn’t see me feeling guilty for being too harsh.
Or insecure for being too lenient. (was she a bad kid?)
My self-loathing when I heard her whisper, “Mama sad,” through the open doorway of her room.
You didn’t see my frustration that nothing seemed to reach her.
My insecurity for still not knowing what works best with my child.
My feeling stupid for crying at all.
You didn’t see any of that when you politely stepped from my view of the thinly-sliced chicken breast, glanced back at my two-year old playing happily in the cart, and whispered, “You’re doing a great job.” Then you winked at me, turned your cart around, and left, your grizzled gray hair lilting easily on the soft breeze of the grocery store AC.
You didn’t know that I turned down the Pasta and Hispanic Cuisine aisle even though I didn’t need noodles or green chilis. Just an empty, quiet place to dab my eyes before moving on with my list, my day, my life.
They say motherhood is a thankless job. And at first read, it seems an unfair statement to the amount of thankful, supportive spouses out there. I’m lucky enough to have one. But I think the phrase continues to ring true because no matter how many thank you’s a mother gets, they could never accrue to the amount of hours she spends giving everything she has to her children. Which is ok: this is the sanctification she signed up for, and she wouldn’t want anything less for her family.
All the same, the next time you see a mother milling over chicken prices, or stopping for an Americano, or picking out couch pillows, don’t be afraid to tell her she’s doing a good job. Even if you don’t know her. Even if you feel silly (you’re not). Odds are that even if she isn’t, she’s trying her absolute damndest to. Odds are she needs to hear it. Odds are, it certainly won’t make her day worse. In a world where mothers are often made to feel invisible until their all-consuming chapter of motherhood is over, your compliment will mean just that to her: the world.
THE CARTRIDGE 