Transcriber: Chryssa R. Takahashi Reviewer: Denise RQ
I am not June Cleaver.
I am not Claire Huxtable, Elyse Keaton, or Carol Brady,
because this is not the story of a lovely lady.
I don't dance around the house in cardigan sets and capris.
I clearly don't have perfectly coiffed curls,
and I've never cleaned a toiled bowl in high heals and pearls.
My days are spent washing, and brushing, and cooking, and cleaning,
and feeding, and fussing, and "please put your shoes on,"
and driving, and dropping, and raising, and rushing,
and holy shit, I'm tired.
And it's only nine a.m.
But I saw moms on TV, happy and free,
and I saw moms on my street perfect and neat,
and I saw moms on playdates
wearing makeup and smiles 16 teeth wide,
and I sighed as I sat in my recliner
covered in drool, urine, vomit,
and last night's Chardonnay.
Those were the mothers I watched
and declared, "There is no way. We are not the same kind."
I said that in my mind, but with them, I just smiled, and lied,
and said, "Everything is just fine."
I thought I was joining a club, a group of like-minded souls.
So, why was I the only one totally out of control
while everyone around me carried on like Shirley Partridge
on performance enhancing drugs?
So, for years, I wore a mask.
Thick, bold, porcelain, beautiful, desperate to impress other people
because I was so unimpressed with myself,
and happy that no one could see me cry.
Allowing others to turn a blind eye
to a life built on other people's expectations,
I started wearing other people's faces.
And when I looked in the mirror, I saw what other people saw.
A big bold smile that said, "Look, I am happy!"
But on the inside, I was kneeling at the altar of the voices in my head.
The all-consuming, all-annoying voices that said I wasn't good enough.
Not patient enough, not smart enough, nice enough, tough enough,
calm enough, thin enough, wife enough, daughter enough,
sister enough, and God knows, I wasn't mom enough.
But I wore the mask, smiled, and said, "Everything is just fine."
But everything was not fine.
Who were those women?
I needed to know and what did they know that I didn't know,
because all I knew was that everything I knew
couldn't possibly be all there was to know, you know?
So I asked.
I came out from behind my mask, and I asked.
Not one mom, not a few but 5,782
from Shanghai to Seattle, and 17 countries in between.
A nerdy researcher by trade, these questions became my crusade.
I gave them tools to dig deep down inside
so I could better understand their Jekyll and my Hyde.
You know what that neighbourhood of motherhood revealed
once they removed their mask?
No one feels up to the task.
We are not what we pretend to be from Shanghai to Seattle,
mothers everywhere just like me burdened with doubt.
The number one emotion of all was the doubt.
They doubt whether they are doing a good job at this most important job,
and they are unable and unwilling
to say when they feel like they are doing a bad job.
It's a code of silence,
crying in silence, suffering in silence.
Voices in their head suggesting as a mother what they should be,
could be, shouldn't ever be, and couldn't be even if they tried.
The media loves to write about the Mommy Wars
but the truth is we are the real saboteurs.
Mothers are not at war with other mothers,
we are at war with ourselves.
You see, how we feel about ourselves, and what we do to ourselves
is a condition of our own creation.
Just think of the world we could create if we created a different situation.
We wear masks because we believe we must.
It looks so easy for them, so let’s say it’s easy for us.
But it is not easy.
For any of us.
And we're making it harder
by trying to live up to these ridiculous expectations,
and all these fictitious motherhood rules and regulations.
We can only ever be who we really are,
and at some point, that has to be good enough.
Let's agree to agree and come to the conclusion that we are good enough.
Mothers, it's time to be who we really are.
Say who we really are and accept who we really are.
And together, we can end these mommy wars,
the wars within ourselves, and finally be free.
(Applause)
(Cheers)