Supermom or Imposter? The False Identities of Motherhood
At least once a week, someone will stop me and say, “Are all of those children yours?” I have five kids, and my gut reaction is often to tie on my imaginary Supermom cape and inwardly respond with, “They sure are!” Within seconds, however, I’m awash with a hearty case of imposter syndrome, knowing what my children know: I am anything but a supermom. I often struggle with losing my cool, grumbling and complaining, and parenting towards the short-term goal of peace and quiet. What constitutes right thinking about my motherhood, and who am I within it: a supermom or an imposter?
Motherhood is a blessing from God.
In Psalm 127:3, we are told “Children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward.” ‘Fruit’ in God’s Word often describes something sweet and unmerited, like the fruit of the Spirit or the fruit of the ground. It’s a good gift God gives for our joy and his glory, not because anything we do warrants it.
We all know that few women coast through the childbearing years without a hiccup in terms of conception, sustained pregnancy, and birth. Even in our days of advanced medical knowledge, 10-20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. So we recognize that every single birth is a miracle—a stunning act of God’s grace. This season of our lives is precious, and—as our sisters who have struggled would tell us—not to be taken for granted. When we see our children as undeserved gifts from God, we can throw off the Supermom cape with reckless abandon. Instead, we can offer prayers of humble thanksgiving to God, knowing that motherhood is a blessing from him.
We have everything we need in Christ.
I regularly receive comments about what a fantastic mother I must be, evidenced only by the number of children I have. But having five kids doesn’t make me Supermom. I need a moment-by-moment reorientation to the truth: God is God.
And I am not.
Psalm 127:1 says, “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” Full surrender is such a challenge for me that I’ve had to develop a physical posture to remind myself that the Lord is the one building my family. Throughout each day, I’ve taken to gently holding my hands face up towards heaven, in an act of prayerful surrender. When we pass a neighborhood I’ve been wanting to move into for a while, but the door hasn’t opened for us—palms up. When my child asks a question that is way above my pay grade—palms up. When kids are arguing and I can feel myself ready to breathe dragon-like fire for the sake of quiet—palms up. It’s a moment-by-moment heart posture that says both to God and to me, this job is bigger than I am. I need you. In that moment, he gives me himself. Low and behold—I’m not actually an imposter. I am empowered with the same God-given power that raised Jesus from the dead, the same wisdom with which Solomon governed, and the same direction God gave the Israelites in the wilderness. I’m not coming to the parenting table with nothing. As a matter of fact, I’m arriving with everything I need.
God is our identity and resting place.
Because my children range from preschool to teenagers, I can go from being a wildly popular mommy to an utter embarrassment of a mother in mere moments. It’s easy to believe my own press in either direction, if I’m not careful. Psalm 127:2 feels like God singing a lullaby over me: “It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for he gives to his beloved sleep.”
The last phrase is important. If you are a child of God, you are his beloved. When you are someone’s beloved, the thesaurus says you are adored, cherished, and treasured. You are near to his heart and cared for. You are dear to him and he prizes you, and that doesn’t change. Our identity can be found in being precious to God, no matter what anyone else thinks. Motherhood will truly unsteady us if we are living for our children’s (or anyone else’s) approval. Instead, we must find our identity in the one who gave his life for us so that we could pour our lives out for them.
While this verse is specifically speaking of physical rest, it hearkens to a rest that is deeper. “Eating the bread of anxious toil” stands in stark contrast with eating the bread that is offered in the finished work of Jesus on the cross. When we find ourselves truly resting in his righteousness instead of our own, it frees us to admit that we are not perfect parents. It frees us to rest in his wisdom instead of feverishly trying to develop our own. It frees us to apologize to our kids when we get it wrong. God offers physical rest with sleep and spiritual rest with the gift of his mercy because of the cross. What a tender, understanding, and loving God we serve!
If you are a mom who waffles back and forth between wearing your Supermom cape and hiding behind imposter syndrome, there’s good news for you—you’re neither! God gives us the gift of our children, and then he follows it up with the grace we need to raise them. As we seek to rest in him, we become tools for his use—and we rely upon him for the outcome.
