For the longest time, I felt like I was doing everything wrong.
I’d come home from work exhausted, mentally drained, and immediately face the chaos of dinner, homework, bath time, and bedtime. Every evening felt like a race I was losing. The kids were cranky. I was short-tempered. Nothing felt good.
And underneath it all was this constant whisper: you’re failing at this. Other mothers have it together. Other mothers don’t lose their patience. Other mothers make it look easy.
I kept waiting for things to get easier, for some magic moment when I’d figure it all out. But that moment never came.
What did come was something smaller and more practical: a handful of daily habits that changed everything.
These seven practices didn’t make me a perfect mother. They didn’t eliminate the chaos or the exhaustion. But they shifted something fundamental—how I showed up, how I felt about myself, how my kids responded to me.
If you’re struggling with that same feeling of never being enough, these might help you too.
1) I give myself 15 minutes of buffer time before engaging
This was the biggest game-changer, and it felt counterintuitive at first.
I used to walk in the door and immediately try to be “on”—greeting the kids enthusiastically, asking about their day, jumping straight into making dinner. But I was running on empty, trying to give from a depleted place.
Now I build in 15 minutes of transition time.
Sometimes that means sitting in my car in the driveway for a few minutes before going inside. Sometimes it means going straight to my room to change clothes while taking some deep breaths. Sometimes it’s just washing my face and having a glass of water in the kitchen before I fully engage.
I tell the kids, “Mom needs a few minutes to transition from work. I’ll be ready to hear about your day in just a bit.”
Those 15 minutes let me shed the work day. They give me a chance to mentally shift gears. And when I do engage with the kids, I’m actually present rather than performing presence while internally still processing my day.
It felt selfish at first. But what I realized is that those 15 minutes make me a better mother for the next four hours. It’s not indulgence—it’s maintenance.
2) I lower my standards for what dinner has to be
I was killing myself trying to make “real” dinners every night.
Something homemade, balanced, with vegetables the kids would actually eat. Cooking felt like another job, another performance I was failing at, especially when the kids would complain or refuse to eat what I’d spent energy making.
Now I’ve radically lowered the bar.
Some nights dinner is scrambled eggs and toast. Some nights it’s a rotisserie chicken I picked up on the way home with pre-cut vegetables and hummus. Some nights it’s breakfast for dinner or sandwiches or pasta with butter and frozen peas.
I keep a running list of “easy dinners”—ten meals I can make in under 20 minutes with minimal energy. When I’m too tired to think, I just pick from the list.
What I’ve discovered is that my kids don’t actually care. They’re not evaluating the nutritional completeness of each meal or judging my culinary skills. They just want to eat something that tastes okay and move on with their evening.
The energy I was spending on dinner perfectionism was making me resentful and exhausted. Now that energy goes to being present during the meal, to actually talking with my kids instead of being stressed about what’s on their plates.
3) I do one focused activity with each child, even if it’s just 10 minutes
I used to think quality time meant elaborate activities—crafts, outings, special projects. And when I didn’t have energy for those things, I felt like I was failing.
What I’ve learned is that kids don’t need elaborate. They need focused attention.
Now I aim for 10 minutes of one-on-one time with each child every evening. Sometimes that’s reading together on the couch. Sometimes it’s playing with Legos or building blocks. Sometimes it’s just lying on their bed and listening to them talk about whatever’s on their mind.
The key is that I’m fully present. Phone away, not thinking about what I need to do next, just genuinely engaged with this one child for this brief window.
Those 10 minutes do more for our relationship than an hour of distracted half-presence while I’m trying to multitask. The kids feel seen. They get their needs for connection met. And honestly, it fills me up too.
Some nights it’s hard to carve out even that small amount of time. But I’ve made it non-negotiable. Everything else can be messy and imperfect, but this one thing—10 focused minutes per child—I protect fiercely.
4) I narrate what I’m doing instead of hiding my humanness
I used to try to hide my exhaustion, my frustration, my overwhelm from my kids. I thought good mothers didn’t let their children see them struggle.
But pretending to be fine when I wasn’t fine was exhausting. And it was teaching my kids that adults don’t have feelings, that struggling means you’re doing something wrong.
Now I narrate what’s happening for me in age-appropriate ways.
“Mom is feeling really tired right now, so I’m going to move a little slower tonight and that’s okay.”
“I’m feeling frustrated because there’s a lot to do and not much time. I’m going to take some deep breaths and we’ll figure it out.”
“Work was really hard today and I’m feeling overwhelmed. I need some patience from you guys tonight.”
This does two things. First, it gives me permission to be human. I don’t have to perform being fine when I’m not.
Second, it teaches my kids emotional literacy. They see that adults have feelings too, and they learn how to name and manage those feelings.
5) I let go of something non-essential every single evening
This practice saved my sanity: every evening, I intentionally let something go.
Maybe the dishes sit in the sink overnight. Maybe I skip bath time and just do a quick face-wash. Maybe the toys don’t get picked up. Maybe I don’t fold the laundry. Maybe homework gets a half-hearted effort instead of my usual oversight.
I used to try to do everything—work a full day, make dinner, clean up, help with homework, do baths, read books, tidy the house, prep for tomorrow, respond to emails. And I’d end every day feeling like I’d failed because something inevitably didn’t get done.
Now I proactively choose what won’t get done. I make the decision instead of letting it happen to me.
6) I end the day with one positive observation about each child
When I was constantly feeling like a failure, I was focusing on everything going wrong.
The kids fought. They didn’t listen. Homework was a battle. Bedtime took forever. My mental highlight reel was all the hard moments, all the times I lost my patience, all the ways I didn’t measure up.
Now I intentionally end each day by thinking of one specific positive thing about each child.
Sometimes I write it down. Sometimes I just think it. Sometimes I tell them directly: “You know what I noticed today? You shared your toy with your brother without me asking. That was really kind.”
This practice shifts my focus. Instead of ending the day cataloging failures, I’m training myself to notice what’s going well. And there’s always something—even on the hardest days.
It changes the narrative in my head. Instead of “I’m a terrible mother with difficult children,” it becomes “Here are these specific good things I noticed about my kids today.”
7) I give myself credit for showing up instead of for being perfect
The biggest shift has been in how I measure success.
I used to measure myself against an impossible standard: patient, energetic, creative, organized, always having the right answer, never losing my temper, making everything special.
No one can meet that standard. So every day ended with a sense of falling short.
Now I measure success differently: Did I show up? Did I feed them? Did I keep them safe? Did I give them at least some positive attention? Did I apologize when I messed up?
That’s enough. That’s actually good parenting.
This practice has been transformative. Because the truth is, most days I’m not going to be a magazine-cover mother. Most days I’m going to be a tired, imperfect woman doing her best with limited resources.
And that’s actually exactly what my kids need—not perfection, but consistent presence. Not a highlight reel, but someone who keeps showing up.
Conclusion
I still have hard evenings. I still lose my patience sometimes. I still end some days feeling like I could have done better.
But I don’t feel like I’m failing anymore.
These seven practices haven’t made me perfect. They’ve made me sustainable. They’ve helped me show up as a version of myself that I can actually maintain—not a fantasy version that exists only in my exhausted imagination.
The biggest lesson has been this: good-enough parenting is actually good parenting. Kids don’t need perfect. They need consistent, loving, present-enough. They need someone who keeps showing up, even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy, even when it falls short of some imaginary ideal.
