I’ve always found the “Mama Bear” comparison a bit off-putting. The image of a “Mama Bear” conjures up moms who are aggressively overprotective, ready to pounce at any perceived threat to their cubs. I envisioned myself as more of a “Mama Swan,” gracefully navigating life with my little ones following smoothly behind. Peaceful, serene, in control. But the truth is, beneath the surface, I’m more swan-like in appearance with the fierce heart of a grizzly when it comes to my family. And I suspect many Family Mamas feel the same way.
The reality is, being a “Mama Bear” isn’t about outward aggression or being loud. It’s about the intensity of your care, the depth of your concern for your family’s well-being. It’s about holding your family’s happiness and security so paramount that any disruption to their peace feels like a personal crisis. As a family mama, it’s easy to fall into the trap of wanting to control everything, to orchestrate life perfectly so that everyone under your care is always okay. For those of us who are Christians, we know intellectually that this level of control is an illusion. Yet, that doesn’t stop the ingrained urge to strive for it, to feel it.
The Fragile Foundation of Control
Why is it so hard to let go of this need for control? Because the alternative feels terrifying. Letting go implies that things might truly unravel, that chaos might ensue. So, we keep spinning our wheels, chasing that elusive moment of calm when we can finally exhale and say, “Everything is perfect. Everyone is healthy, happy, and thriving.” But this kind of manufactured peace is as delicate as a house of cards. It’s building your sense of security on a foundation of toothpicks, constantly bracing for the inevitable collapse.
Before becoming a wife and family mama, I anticipated the workload – the tasks, the chores, the sheer busyness. What I didn’t fully grasp was how much of this labor would be emotional, carried out in the unseen realm of the heart.
And it is utterly exhausting. With each addition to our family, the weight my heart carries expands exponentially. Worry, love, joy, anxiety, affection, fear – a constant, swirling mix of emotions. The emotional bandwidth feels stretched to its limit. I sometimes joke that I can’t even consider getting a pet dog because I simply lack the emotional reserves to care for one more living being!
There are days when my husband walks in looking burdened, and my immediate reaction is a surge of internal panic. I want to raise my hands and declare, “Warning! Anxiety levels are at maximum! Any additional stress will trigger system failure!” Instead, I usually opt for the quick-fix approach, blurting out, “What’s wrong? Just tell me! Now!” The subconscious hope is to swiftly apply a Band-Aid of gospel truth, check it off the mental to-do list, and move on before the dinner burns.
Short-Circuiting God’s Deeper Work
But life, and more importantly, people, don’t operate on a checklist. This frantic “fixing” mentality is flawed for a fundamental reason: I am not God. My external attempts to manage and control our family’s universe are superficial, like those flimsy toothpicks, ultimately incapable of bearing the weight of real life. I vividly remember my husband, Clint, saying to me, with a gentle plea, “Can you just let me be not okay? Can you just love me when I’m not happy?”
I had always recognized the protective and controlling tendencies within “Mama Bear” types like myself. But in that moment, a deeper, more uncomfortable truth surfaced: our control is often rooted in selfishness.
If you’re not okay, then I’m not okay, my heart silently protested. And in that instant, the self-centeredness of my “Mama Bear” instincts became glaringly clear. My desire to fix wasn’t truly about him; it was about my own discomfort. I didn’t want to walk alongside him through a difficult season. I wanted the discomfort to vanish, the problem solved, so I could return to my desired state of happiness and control. I realized then that this “Mama Bear” protection, in its misguided form, was selfish enough to potentially interfere with God’s work in someone’s life, all to avoid my own unease.
Think about little Susie struggling to make friends at school. The “Mama Bear” inclination is to swoop in and eliminate the pain immediately. Organize playdates, orchestrate friendships, make the heartache disappear. But what if God intends this very experience to be the catalyst for Susie to turn to Him in genuine need? What if this early experience of heartache is setting the stage for Susie to learn to trust God and witness His faithfulness on her behalf? Isn’t that deeper, more lasting growth worth navigating through some temporary suffering? For Susie, and yes, even for the family mama who longs to shield her from all pain?
Abiding in Christ: The True Source of Strength
The transformative shift from a “fixer” family mama to an “abiding” family mama hinges on one crucial element: abiding in Christ. David, in Psalm 46, sang of this very refuge:
God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea (Ps. 46:1–2).
This is the assurance the “Mama Bear” heart truly craves. The promise of unwavering strength when life inevitably throws its curveballs. When a job is lost, a concerning medical diagnosis is delivered, or a grown child faces heartbreak. The “Mama Bear” understands the precariousness of life built on shifting sand. She lives in that fragile house and knows, even on good days, the subtle tremor of instability. Moving that house to the Solid Rock of Christ isn’t a one-time event; it’s a continuous, moment-by-moment choice. A yielding of control, a conscious act of trust. And only from that foundation of abiding trust can we truly minister to our families with a love that echoes Christ’s: “Come as you are, messy, hurting, and imperfect. I will abide with you. For as long as it takes.”
