In the CLERB, we all (imperfect) fam
Confianza, por fin
I have a confession: I haven't been taking my own advice.
Do you remember when I got on Instagram and told you all: "Just start doing the dang thing! You don't need a perfect plan. You may not know what the path ahead looks like, and even if you think you do, it's probably going to change anyway. Whatever you're waiting to start, start now. I promise you'll look back to this day and be so glad that you did."
Well. I'm a bit of a hypocrite — because I've been sitting on the idea of launching this blog for nearly a year and a half. Waiting. Tweaking. Convincing myself it wasn't ready yet.
Sound familiar?
“I don’t have time” but I didn’t realize I could take my time to build it. 5-10 minutes at a time.
“I don’t know what I would write about”, but I was already leading conversations with my fellow mamas on topics we all wanted to talk about but felt no one else would care about.
“I don’t think this will add any value”, but each of us has a perspective, voice, and story to be shared.
I’ve been reading Stacey Vanek Smith’s Machiavelli for Women: Defend Your Worth, Grow Your Ambition, and Win the Workplace and she writes, "Confident people act. People who lack confidence, waffle."
And then she goes in even deeper: "Perfectionism is about control. If you perceive yourself to be in an unfair system, the one thing you can control is the work you do. A lot of women get stuck obsessing over making something so amazingly good that it cannot be denied."
OOF. Okay, drag me.
For as long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with being perceived as perfect — especially when it comes to my work. I never wanted anyone (read: white people) to think I only received the grades, awards, raises, and promotions because of my gender or my Latinidad. Everything had to be undeniably excellent. #FirstGenProblems, amirite?
And honestly? In some areas, that drive served me. I did get into my dream university. But it has also held me back more times than I can count. I almost didn't audition for an a cappella group in college because I was convinced I wasn't good enough. Wasn't perfect enough. Luckily, I had friends who pushed me — and if I had let that fear win, I would have missed out on some of the most incredible friendships and community of my life.
The perfectionism trap isn't new for us. As Latinas, many of us grew up having to be twice as good just to be seen as equal. We learned early that there was no room for mistakes — not at school, not at work, not in front of people who were already looking for a reason to doubt us. So we controlled what we could. We perfected what we could. We made ourselves undeniable.
And then we became mothers.
And mija, motherhood does not care about your perfect plan.
Motherhood is the great humbler. The thing that will bring a type-A, overachieving, first-gen Latina to her knees faster than anything else — because you can not perfect your way through it. You can read every book, follow every expert, build the most beautiful routine — and your toddler will still have a meltdown in the middle of the grocery store or refuse to eat anything besides pizza and pasta (like mine). Your baby will refuse to sleep the week you have the biggest deadline of your year. You will lose your patience on the days you promised yourself you wouldn't. You will forget the permission slip, miss the recital rehearsal, feed them cereal for dinner and wonder if you are doing any of this right.
You are. And also — you're not always. Neither am I.
I have been an imperfect mother today. I will be an imperfect mother tomorrow. I've snapped when I should have taken a breath. I've chosen my phone over the moment. I've cried in the shower just to have five minutes alone. I’ve felt guilty for taking girls’ trips or asked for a break. I've questioned my choices, my patience, my instincts — all before 9am.
And I've also shown up, every single day, in the most real and loving way I know how.
That's the whole thing, isn't it? We don't get to be perfect mothers. But we get to be present ones. Trying ones. Getting-back-up ones. And that is more than enough.
As for this blog: I know I held myself back too long. I kept waiting until it was built up enough, polished enough, ready enough. But being perfect isn't real. It takes up too much energy. And it's especially impossible when you're also raising humans, holding your familia together, and trying to remember the last time you had a full cup of hot coffee.
So let this be your takeaway today — from one imperfect mama to another:
Do the thing you've been waiting to do until you were ready. Until you were perfect.
Do it now. Do it imperfectly. Do it anyway.
Bienvenidas. We're building something real here — and real has never been perfect.
