The (Perfect) Parenting Trap

The Fight to be Imperfect in a World Dominated by Activewear, Instagram and Unreal Expectations

Posted 25/08/2019; Updated 17/05/2025

The Myth of the “Super-Parent” is Doing Us More Harm than Good.

Humanity has stripped most of the dangers and mystery from the wild world. We’ve charted the planet; we’re mapping more and more of the ocean deep every year; and­, for better or worse, we’ve collared and tamed most of nature, or at very least shored ourselves up behind the proverbial and literal walls of our cities to keep it at bay.

But there remains one environment in our ordered world—a strange, frightening place full of peril and wild, feral beasts—that strikes more fear into a parents’ heart than anything lurking within the jungle primeval: the modern-day supermarket.

An urban wildland replete with temptation, animalistic keening and temper tantrums…

And sometimes, the temper tantrums aren’t restricted to the children.

18-month-old Tate had already been making a nuisance of himself long before he and his mother Mel visited the local Coles—but the trek down the lolly aisle really brought the proverbial chickens home to roost.

Another mother, walking in the opposite direction, was seemingly the Instagram-perfect model of successful parenthood. She strolled  down the aisle with flawless makeup, her glossy hair tied into a ponytail coursing out the back of a baseball cap, her Lorna Jane jacket with matching leggings snug against a lean, toned body. Her two children, with almost scripted politeness, asked if they could have a packet of lollies; the mother replied they had healthy treats at home; they didn’t need sugary sweets because they were bad for them, which the children accepted without fuss. Meanwhile, Tate was grabbing anything within reach, while Mel struggled to keep up with the items being hurled into her trolley.

Tate eventually dropped to the floor, kicking, repeatedly smashing his head on the floor, howling like a banshee. An elderly couple had started down the aisle now, shooting disapproving looks. Mel’s cheeks began to burn; she could feel a vein throbbing in her forehead.

In a moment of regrettable, temporary madness, she spiked her handbag into the ground and threw herself to the floor, screaming and flailing about like Tate.

The surrounding pocket of the supermarket went deathly quiet. Even Tate had quit howling. “I felt vindicated,” Mel says. “I was like, you know what, caution to the wind, I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks right now.” She’d wanted to give Tate a taste of his own medicine. It worked.

But then a self-reproving look steals across her face, as if the memory still embarrasses her, years later. “And then, at that point, I realised everything had gone quiet. So I’ve looked up—almost like I sort of came back to reality—going, ‘Jesus Christ, Mel, you’re in the supermarket, and you’ve just completely lost your shit.’”

It wasn’t her finest hour, but we both laugh in hindsight. I’d pulled a similarly undignified stunt once at the self-checkouts of Woolworths with my own son, when he was four and in full tantrum mode. It worked then, too. Caution to the wind, indeed.

It’s a far cry from the image of the even-tempered, unfailingly patient super-parent we’ve come to know (and perhaps resent): the ultra-fit, energetic, always-fresh mum who manages to juggle a career (or chooses to be a full-time stay-at-home) while rushing the kids to karate or soccer practice, finding time for gym and self-care and school drop-offs, without a hair falling out of place. (And let’s not forget her gym-going, handsome, high-earning, infinitely patient male counterpart.) Social media accounts and mummy blogs everywhere, projecting the image of “the imperfect mum (or dad)”, simultaneously trot out this image of near-perfection few of us can ever attain—and most of us, unwittingly, measure ourselves against it, only to fall woefully short.

 Other parents ought to be the most empathetic when a child is going into a meltdown in a public place. It’s embarrassing and hard to control. But from experience and others’ testimonies, they’re often the guiltiest of judging. Sure, there’ll always be people without kids grumbling about the screaming kid in the supermarket or on the airplane, or older adults (our own grandparents’ age) bemoaning the soft-hearted parents of today and the lack of a good and firm hand. Not much one can do about that. But that casual judgemental look or disparaging comment from other parents, however quiet, can have a pretty devastating impact. It shames already stressed parents, making them feel  isolated and undermining their confidence to do their job.

According to Claire Lerner from Zero-to-Three, “the way you treat parents affects the way they treat their kids. When you show empathy and compassion, parents are more likely to remain loving and sensitive to their kids. Criticism makes parents feel incompetent and makes it more likely they will react in ways that are harsh”. It’s how vicious cycles begin. It exacerbates the parent’s own invisible issues, too.

As Elisa, mother of three, tells me: “If you suffer from depression and anxiety like me, I’ll get nervous and anxious, then later I’ll feel really down on myself, and I end up telling myself that I’m a shit mum.” The negative self-talk that judgement triggers, rather than inspiring them to greater heights, often sends battle-weary parents into a worse tailspin. I know the heartbreaking truth of this. In 2012, after being bullied by a mum’s group on Facebook and ridiculed as “a shit mum”, my dear friend Annie, a wonderful mother to a four-year-old boy, took her own life. Annie had experienced some serious drug abuse issues in years before and after her son’s birth, but she worked hard to take control of her issues, and she succeeded. Sadly, the comments of those small-minded young women in the group undid all the hard work Annie put into herself, and she lost her will and her battle to keep fighting.

It’s a vexing but sadly all-too-common problem. Jess, a working mother of two, returned to work six months after having her second daughter—earlier than she’d initially planned. She got some pretty judgemental reactions from many mums; her mother-in-law with her then de facto partner was perhaps the worst of these . “Some people are like, ‘Oh, you’re back already, good on you’. And then others—” Jess shifts to a haughty falsetto, “‘—Oh, you’re back already?’” She thinks back on those conversations at night, second-guessing herself: Am I good parent? Am I present enough? Jess is hardly alone: this is the living reality of millions of working parents everywhere, for whom staying at home 24/7 with their kids is an idyllic fantasy.

But beyond financial necessity, Jess likes having her own career. It gives her a world outside her kids: purpose, friends and meaningful connections, and a sense of her own identity. And why shouldn’t she be able to do this? Being a parent doesn’t mean one must relinquish all vestiges of selfhood and ambition.

Julie, a beautician and businesswoman, chalks it up to image. “Sometimes I think it’s almost, for some, a status symbol: my child’s doing music, dance, basketball, doing this—these kids are doing so much that—Are they really being children?” In her mind, it’s not really about the kids, but the parents’ self-image.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home parent. There’s also nothing wrong with having kids in a bunch of extracurricular activities. It’s as much a testament of dedication, sacrifice and love for them as it is for a working parent, and everyone in between—the difference here is perspective. Some think it’s physically being there around the clock, 365 days a year, sacrificing one’s selfhood entirely. Others work to pay for their kids to go to a good school or just keep a roof over their heads. Everybody’s got different contexts and priorities, but for most parents, the kids are still the centre of their universe; they are the lynchpin axis on which their world spins.

We’re all fighting for the same objective—so why are we parents so critical of one another? Why do we feel the need to snipe against “the other side”?

According to Shefali Tsabury, PhD and author of The Awakened Family: A Revolution in Parenting: ego. The ego compels and ensnares parents into believing they are all-knowing with their children, which in turn spills out into parent-to-parent interactions. Jessica Gammell-Bennett, a mum-blogger, views it as a defensive mechanism for one’s own insecurities and anxieties: “In my experience, it is the people that are most afraid of being judged that are the most likely to judge others. It’s almost like ‘I’ll judge you before you can judge me.’” This certainly echoed the experience of the parents I interviewed. Julie calls it “a Band-Aid to their own imperfections.”

I think author Maya Angelou sums it up best: “Each time I think, ‘Uh oh, they’re going to find out now. I’ve run a game on everybody and they’re going to find me out’”. She was talking about books, but you can see how her meditation on imposter syndrome applies to us, too. No amount of parenting books or wisdom shared from others will be enough to prepare you for your kids. It’s an even playing field of uncertainty and unique needs, and you will eat humble pie eventually. We’re all wandering in uncharted territory.

The social media “super-parent” is a lie—but that doesn’t mean super-parents don’t exist. “A super-parent,” Elisa believes, “is someone who loves their kids unconditionally, helps them along the way, but gives them independence. Let them figure out stuff as well.”

As we’re winding up our Skype interview, moments after bellowing at Jacob like an enraged troll for brawling with his younger sister Eva over the Nintendo, Priscilla—panda-eyed, weary single mother of three—tells me the most important thing is “just being there for them and just loving them.” Being emotionally present, she insists, trumps hovering over them 24/7—and losing your shit sometimes doesn’t mean you care for them any less.

We can all be super-parents by showing it’s okay to be human. Showing our kids what it means to be imperfect, to lose your marbles and yet still love, forgive and keep showing up, shows children there’s no shame in them being imperfect, too.