Joy or duty?

Being a parent means that from now on you do things from morning to night that you would never do without children.

That was the statement I used when I entered parenthood – and which I largely lived by during the first few years.

I'm not good at making kids' things. This is mainly because I just don't like doing these things—I don't naturally enjoy them!

I don't like crafts, baking, cooking, or game nights. I don't like the children's pool at the swimming pool, the playground, or any school events. I would never go to Playland on my own. I dread children's birthdays, and I'm much more minimalist and frugal than my children. I don't want to be a member of a club or play hopscotch games. I don't like dressing up or role-playing with stuffed animals. I don't like reading aloud, and singing a song before bedtime when I've already had to keep my eyes open with matchsticks for two hours is extremely difficult for me...

Over the past few years, I have spoken to many parents about this, and the reactions are strikingly similar:

For many parents, everyday life with children is simply too much.

They look so tired and worn out, but together we all wear our best smiles. We've become accustomed to the fact that spending time with our children doesn't bring us much joy – and we seem to resign ourselves to our fate. But by doing so, we make things difficult for ourselves and our children: The whole family senses when one member of the family isn't feeling well, even if they manage to hide it.

I just want you to be well!

A battle rages within us: We've learned what our children supposedly need to be happy, and no matter what we love or dislike ourselves, we do it for the sake of our children. We want to do everything we can to ensure that our children can look back on a happy time later.

But that's not all: It's not just our sense of responsibility toward our children that keeps us running on this hamster wheel, but also social pressure: We know that our children learn at school and kindergarten what other parents do at home with their families. What kind of buffet did they have at Christmas? How big were the presents? How lavish was the children's birthday party? How unusual was the summer vacation? How delicious is the food? How homey and cozy does the apartment or house look?

We're falling into a dangerous trap: comparing ourselves to others. I wonder how you feel about it... for me, it's less about comparing ourselves to others these days, but more about the fear that my child might think others are better off than them... and thus feel like they're missing something. This fear drove me, and to some extent still drives me today—I want my children to feel like they belong, to feel like I'm just as well off as everyone else, I have access to everything my best friends have—I'm not left out.

And me?

Parents often feel immense pressure to always offer the best of the best

And interestingly, this "best" looks similar for everyone. We've adopted what we've learned—children want to do crafts. Children want to bake.Children need a tent in their room, a hammock in the attic, a mom who cooks and bakes, huge birthday parties, and big presents. They need readings in the evening and a lullaby, and Christmas has to be as cozy as possible.

Well, at some point I began to question these assumptions that seemed so natural.

Who exactly defines what is child-friendly?

Are all children the same?

Is it really true that I have to constantly go to the flea market or the convenience store to catch the latest toy trends? Do I have to bake massive amounts of cookies, does my birthday cake have to be a masterpiece, does it have to be the playground every day? How constricted is my world if I stay within these boundaries?

Now I not only love my children, but also myself. This is the point of rethinking. What we do together as a family should also bring joy to everyone, at least at the basic level. Because only then does the shared experience become a relaxing time. The enjoyment doesn't really come from WHAT we do, but from HOW we do it.

You and I

Slowly, bit by bit, one small knot after another bursts:

Our evening ritual still consists of singing and reading – but alternating, not both at once, and at an earlier time when I feel free to do it. After that, they can play for a few minutes and I can withdraw a little to rest.

We go to the library because I like it—and lo and behold, they cheer. We just stay home and I devote myself to my projects—my children play with the neighbors' kids.

We meet up with my friends, who don't have children, in the middle of the city, and the kids get ice cream—they love it.

At one point, I even bought a ready-made cake for my child's birthday party—admittedly, I did so with wobbly knees—but hey, the kids spent the afternoon on the trampoline and barely thought about food.

I've learned that my needs matter. More than that, they are unavoidable if we want to be happy together. I can allow myself to say, "I won't do that. Being a mother or a woman, or whatever social cliché might want to pressure me into it, no one can force me, and I can help shape my children's lives in a way that suits me, too, even if it might sometimes look different in comparison.

And yes, I regularly force myself to do things for my children that I don't like myself – almost every day. It's part of unconditional love, and I would do it again anytime. Because in the end, only one thing matters: I never want to lose the people I love most, no matter the cost.

One thing is clear now: Kindersachen is everything that brings us joy together. All the children in the room, those standing in front of me, and also my own inner child.

If you would like to learn more about family, pregnancy, mindfulness, nutrition or sustainability, take a look here over.

AUTHOR: SARAH ACKER