Why Are Mothers Always Asking for Permission?
One of the most common phrases I hear from mothers in therapy is some version of:
"Am I allowed...?"
Am I allowed to stop breastfeeding?
Am I allowed to hire more help?
Am I allowed to put my child in daycare?
Am I allowed to need time away from my kids?
Am I allowed to feel angry?
Am I allowed to miss my old life?
Am I allowed to not enjoy this stage?
Am I allowed to want more than motherhood?
Am I allowed to be touched out, overwhelmed, resentful, exhausted, lonely, bored, ambitious, grieving, fulfilled, and grateful all at the same time?
The specific question changes. But the structure is remarkably consistent.
Am I allowed?
Whenever I hear this, I find myself less interested in the content of the question and more interested in the fact that it is being asked at all.
Allowed by whom?
Who exactly is granting permission?
Who made the rules?
And perhaps most importantly: who benefits from mothers believing they need permission in the first place?
Because underneath so much maternal guilt, shame, anxiety, perfectionism, and self-doubt lies something larger than individual psychology.
There is a system.
Adrienne Rich wrote powerfully about this distinction in Of Woman Born, separating the experience of motherhood from the institution of motherhood. The experience is the deeply human reality of loving, raising, worrying about, delighting in, and being transformed by children. The institution is the set of cultural expectations, roles, rules, and myths imposed upon mothers.
Many women come to therapy believing they are struggling with motherhood. Often, what they are actually struggling with is the institution. They are trying to meet a set of standards that no actual human being could meet. Standards that require mothers to be endlessly patient but never angry.
Selfless but not depleted.
Present but also productive.
Devoted but still attractive.
Available but not needy.
Grateful but never grieving.
Career-oriented, but not so career-oriented that someone might question their devotion to their children.
They are expected to sacrifice constantly while somehow not experiencing sacrifice. And when they inevitably fail at this impossible task, they assume the problem is themselves. The message is subtle, but relentless and self-defeating.
A good mother should enjoy every moment.
A good mother should be grateful.
A good mother should put everyone else's needs before her own.
A good mother should not need too much help.
A good mother should not complain.
A good mother should know instinctively what to do.
A good mother should not be angry.
A good mother should not want to escape.
A good mother should not struggle this much.
No wonder so many mothers feel like they are failing. The standards themselves are impossible. I often find myself wondering what would happen if mothers viewed these struggles through a different lens.
What if the guilt wasn't evidence that you were doing something wrong? What if the guilt was evidence that you had absorbed a set of rules that were never designed with actual human mothers in mind?
What if the shame wasn't proof of failure? What if it was the predictable result of trying to satisfy impossible and contradictory expectations?
Because so much of what mothers experience as personal inadequacy is actually cultural messaging that has become internalized.
One of my favorite passages in Of Woman Born describes a period of time Adrienne Rich spent alone with her children in the woods, away from her husband and away from many of the expectations that had come to organize her experience of motherhood.
For a brief period, there was no audience. No one to judge. No one to compare herself to. No one evaluating whether she was doing motherhood correctly. No one measuring her against an invisible standard. And something surprising happened. She enjoyed her children. She enjoyed motherhood. There wasn’t necessarily less caretaking or work to do, but the tasks became easier because she was finally relating to her children directly rather than through a constant filter of obligation, performance, self-surveillance, and judgment.
I think about this passage often.
Because so many mothers are not only carrying children, schedules, laundry, meals, appointments, emotional labor, and mental load. They are also carrying an internalized audience and a constant sense of being evaluated.
Should I still be breastfeeding?
Should I be working more?
Should I be working less?
Should I enjoy this more?
Should I need less?
Should I be more present?
Less stressed?
More grateful?
More patient?
More organized?
More selfless?
The list never ends.
And perhaps this is why so many mothers feel trapped. Not only because motherhood is demanding. But because they are trying to perform motherhood at the same time they are living it. The institution of motherhood often asks women to view themselves from the outside, to constantly monitor, evaluate, compare, and correct themselves.
But children do not need a performance or perfection. They need an authentic relationship. And relationships rarely thrive under conditions of constant surveillance, or under a standard of perfection.
Sometimes therapy is not about helping mothers become better at meeting these standards. Rather, it is about helping them question whether the standards deserve obedience in the first place.
Because when we begin to understand guilt, shame, perfectionism, self-criticism, and chronic feelings of inadequacy as part of a larger system, not simply personal failings, we gain choice.
We begin to see that many of the rules we are following were never consciously chosen.
We inherited them.
We absorbed them.
We internalized them.
Once we have that awareness, we can get curious and we have room to breathe.
The question slowly shifts.
From:
"Am I allowed?"
To:
"What actually works for me?"
"What does my family need?"
"What do I value?"
"What kind of mother do I want to be?"
"What rules am I following that I never consciously chose?"
And perhaps most liberating of all:
"What would motherhood feel like if there were no audience?"
The answer will be different for every mother.
But that is precisely the point.
Freedom begins when we stop asking for permission.
It begins when we recognize that motherhood is not a performance to perfect but a relationship to live.
And that perhaps the path forward is not becoming a better mother according to someone else's standards.
Perhaps the path forward is becoming a more authentic mother according to your own.
Therapy for Mothers in Los Angeles & Across California
Many mothers come to therapy believing something is wrong with them. Often, they are struggling under impossible expectations while trying to carry far more than any one person was meant to carry alone.
If you're interested in exploring motherhood, identity, relationships, perfectionism, burnout, or the emotional realities of parenting, we offer therapy for mothers throughout California via telehealth and in-person services in Los Angeles.
