Beyond Perfection: Embracing the “Radwife” in Modern Parenting – The Power of “Good Enough”
In a world increasingly saturated with curated online personas and aspirational ideals, a refreshing new archetype is emerging from the fray: the **”radwife.”** This isn’t about abandoning responsibility, but rather courageously shedding the pursuit of unattainable perfection in favor of “good enough” parenting. Forget the meticulously planned meals and flawlessly organized homes showcased by the ‘tradwife’ movement; the radwife is here to embrace the wonderfully messy, radically normal reality of modern motherhood.
For many contemporary parents, mornings are a whirlwind. Imagine being roused at 6 AM not by an alarm, but by a baby crawling onto your head. The routine that follows might include a frantic attempt at journaling amidst a soundtrack of Transformers, hot cider vinegar for blood sugar, and tea made with leftover baby milk. Perhaps a chilled jade gua sha spoon is dragged across a tired face in a valiant, if often futile, attempt to defy aging, followed by the preparation of quick porridge for young sons. While they eat, there might be a quick face plunge into iced water, an attempt at a three-step skincare routine, and on some mornings, a run – or on others, a quiet cry into an organic coffee before reaching for a mushroom gummy to soften the edges of the day. Childcare drop-offs are a shared effort, often accompanied by a shrug at being late, and the acceptance that one parent gets a dedicated day with the youngest. This specific, perhaps elaborate, routine is a testament to the complex juggle of contemporary life.
This reality stands in stark contrast to the pervasive online spectacle of the **”tradwife.”** For those unfamiliar, the tradwife typically presents herself as a married woman, often from a conservative and/or Christian background, predominantly white, who staunchly believes her place is exclusively in the home. She is meticulously kempt, embodying a feminine ideal, frequently dressed in a style reminiscent of Betty Draper, though increasingly seen in neutral-toned workout gear. Crucially, she isn’t merely a stay-at-home mother; she *performs* as one, meticulously documenting her seemingly effortless life in dizzying, intimate detail for online consumption. This often leaves observers wondering: who is actually managing the daily grind of potty training, tantrums, and meal prep?
The tradwife concept is far from new. As early as 1792, Mary Wollstonecraft critiqued such women as “birds confined to their cages [with] nothing to do but plume themselves and stalk with mock majesty.” However, in recent years, this traditional role has undergone a significant rebranding, evolving from a niche subculture into a full-blown digital movement. Its current iteration, epitomized by the “Maha – Make America Healthy Again – mom,” often espouses distrust of vaccines and sunscreen to camera, all while adorned in head-to-toe florals. Historically, tradwives earned no income, but today, some manage to out-earn their husbands by shilling products online, presumably funding the small team of helpers necessary to manage the actual childcare behind the curated scenes.
The critique of this performance is not new either. Many a “wrung-out mother” has taken umbrage with the idealized portrayals. Yet, as the relentless pressure of capitalism and the ongoing cost of living crisis squeeze families tighter, the fantasy of escaping into a seemingly idyllic life as a perfectly domestic wife and mother feels ever more vivid and tempting. For the author, a self-described hard worker, mediocre baker, and realistic mother whose life is a delicate balance between tasks accomplished and tasks failed, between app-reliance and persistent guilt, the term **”radwife”** offers a far more fitting description.
Defining the Radwife: Embracing Imperfection with Purpose
To be a radwife, marriage is not a prerequisite. Many choose parenthood consciously, perhaps later in life, in their mid-to-late 30s. The radwife isn’t afraid of serving plain pasta four nights a week, provided the kids brush their teeth. Batch cooking and strategic bribery are tools, not failures. Local fish might be bought, not just for health, but to offset the endless stream of online deliveries. Work deadlines are missed, sleep is lost over concerns about ultra-processed foods (UPF), and the unsung heroics of “leaving the office early” for childcare are intimately familiar. Yet, a radwife might also confidently wield a drill, operate a lawnmower, and always finish the contents of the veg box. Crucially, this often happens in tandem with a “rad dad” or partner who shares the same tensions, childcare responsibilities, and anxieties.
What else defines the radwife? She’s trend-aware but prioritizes comfort, eschewing elasticated waists unless it’s her beloved Adidas Firebird tracksuit (having perhaps discarded more restrictive attire). Her treasured heels are a nostalgic bridge to a former life, kept despite rarely being worn. Other radwife-ish signatures include baseball caps, a practical fringe (a strategic alternative to Botox), and one wildly unsensible coat chosen purely on principle. To unwind, she might devour cookbooks like novels, skim *Grazia* at the doctor’s, and read the *London Review of Books* on the toilet. She tackles the Booker shortlist but secretly loves covers with interesting typefaces. For holidays, Ocean Vuong might be packed, but a self-help book like *The Let Them Theory* might be quietly leafed through when no one is watching. It’s not uncommon for the radwife to find uncomfortable reflections of herself in shows like *Amandaland* (Amanda) and *The White Lotus 3* (Laurie) – indeed, it’s not uncommon for the radwife to be divorced.
The tradwife phenomenon undeniably caused a global stir, perhaps predictably, given its reliance on a largely fantastical role that hinges on personal wealth and is often dislocated from the actual maternal ideal it purports to promote. This also partly explains why ventures like Meghan Markle’s Netflix series, with its seemingly unnecessary pretzel decanting, felt so ill-timed and out of touch. The issue isn’t the perfectionism itself – it’s Instagram, after all – but rather how it encroaches upon and distorts the perceptions of normal life. When did making fish pie from scratch once a week become “trad-coded”? The fundamental difference lies in idealization: tradwives idealize such practices, while the radwife strives to transcend such ideals, seeking balance over perceived perfection.
This inherent tension is precisely what allows the radwife to embody the “perfectly imperfect” parent, aligning with developmental psychologist Donald Winnicott’s concept of the “good enough mother.” So, what if sunscreen is occasionally forgotten? At least the children are wearing secondhand clothes sourced from platforms like Vinted. The radwife makes socially conscious, non-judgmental parenting decisions that prioritize sanity over an obsessive focus on sugar intake. As Ora Dresner, president of the British Psychoanalytic Association, emphasizes, we need conflicts “in order to survive painful choices.” There is no single perfect decision in parenthood, just as in life, which is inherently defined by ambivalence. While we will inevitably see both the good and the bad in every choice, Dresner argues, “we should not see conflict as a negative concept; that unless you are absolutely certain about your choice, you are failing.”
“On the contrary,” Dresner continues, “the ability to be aware of these often painful feelings is essential if the mother is to find the way that works best for her.” The reality for many mothers is the paradox of feeling bored by their children yet utterly lost without them. It’s perfectly acceptable to desire work or social drinks, but equally valid to rush home for phonics lessons. “We as partners, friends and society must be aware of this and support mothers to feel validated as they try to find their way,” Dresner passionately adds.
Many mothers grapple with what the author terms “churnout”: a specific form of burnout stemming from the constant, rapid shifting between roles – partner, worker, mother. Writer Frankie Graddon of the *Mumish* substack eloquently describes the ambient threat of “The Call” (a sick child) at work and the pervasive guilt associated with “beige dinners.” While this may seem obvious, it highlights a delicate societal imbalance. Only the bravest among us manage to disconnect from social media, despite an inherent awareness that it’s often “full of false messages that others are doing far better,” as Dresner points out. “I don’t think it’s possible to find the perfect balance or perfect choice. But to be able to observe our conflicts, and to some extent tolerate them, might offer a degree of freedom from internal and societal pressures, and what social media drives in us,” she concludes.
Ideally, parents wouldn’t have to shapeshift so constantly. Ideally, we would live in a world with sufficient time and resources to allow for less demanding, more flexible work arrangements, where nursery fees aren’t a constant struggle. Concepts like four-day work weeks and cheaper, subsidized childcare remain distant ideals. Instead, capitalism has often co-opted the notion of “empowerment,” transforming it into a relentless pursuit of profit where all hands must be on deck.
For some women, a particular strain of feminism dictates that if you’re not a high-flying earner, your worth is diminished. Rosanna, a 35-year-old film producer and mother of two, articulates this: “As much as I value the role of mother, I would feel ‘less than’ if I didn’t work – and I’ve certainly struggled with that feeling when out of work or looking for work.” While it’s true that many “tradwives” appear more interested in marketing an image than actual mothering, and while the “girl bossing” movement of the mid-2010s became a byword for pseudo-woke corporate feminism, a “radwife” approach feels like a reasonable and healthy middle ground. Rosanna, who loves both parenting and working, still feels that “capitalism sucks and rams this idea that unless you’re earning a living and acquiring status, you are not quite valued.”
Recently, in a conversation with her friend Jo, a mother of two, the author discussed this very dynamic. Jo shared that initially, “motherhood shook me apart, identity wise, and I clung on to work as something to define me. But now I work to provide – and fulfil myself. I don’t need the workplace in the same way I once did.” This metaphorical step back from the incessant “churn of the machine” is not a betrayal of the 1970s feminist fantasy. That dream, the author argues, was often co-opted and used to sell a life that only found meaning through dedication to corporations. When faced with the everyday reality of scraping porridge off a pan and being late for work, the author reflects on the tradwife, wondering if she too has burnt the porridge. “Probably,” the author muses, “But at least I’m OK with it.”