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Motherhood: Open-loop systems. The variables keep shifting. Feedback is delayed or internal. You can't optimize.
The Gamemaster
By
I. Defining Agency
Agency is defined by Webster as "action or intervention, especially such as to produce a particular effect."
Before I had kids, I could produce particular "effects" with reasonable certainty. I didn't know if my project would succeed, but I could model the outcome based on historical patterns and prior data.
In motherhood, that certainty vanishes. Sure, there are developmental trends to track, but each child is their own unique system—and Webster's definition breaks down completely.
Pre-kids: Closed-loop systems. Predictable inputs, measurable outputs, stable variables.
Motherhood: Open-loop systems. The variables keep shifting. Feedback is delayed or internal. You can't optimize.
A favorite writer of mine, Dan Koe, defines agency differently: "the ability to act or iterate without permission or outside prompting. The ability to create a unique story."
This definition works for mothers because it reframes the entire game. You're not trying to produce particular effects. rather you're becoming a gamemaster.
A gamemaster isn't invested in which side wins or loses. They're invested in facilitating the game itself: Is the game being played to its maximum potential?
Win/Loss Framework: You win when your baby doesn't have a meltdown. You act to control the situation.
vs.
Gamemaster Framework: You win when you try something new and creative. You experiment.
As any scientist will tell you, most experiments fail and hypotheses are proved incorrect. But the game (and their joy in their work) is testing the hypothesis regardless of whether it works.
But unlike scientists who earn accolades and professional recognition, moms experimenting with ways to get their baby to stop screaming during hair-washing?
I love Paige McGregor's (No One Ever Told Me) recent observation:
There is no LinkedIn for moms.
II. Stranger Danger
Both my daughters went through a "stranger danger" phase with their grandpa. Although he'd never admit it, I could tell it bruised his ego.
I don't remember how I approached this with my eldest, Sarah. But when Sammy came around, I took a Gamemaster approach.
In anticipation of his visit, I prepared him (while also reassuring myself): This is developmentally appropriate. There might be nothing we can do, so please don't take it personally, Dad.
Then I started experimenting:
First, I asked him to approach at Sammy's level, on all fours. This was a no-go for him, so I'd bring her slowly into the room while he sat at a distance. Didn't work.
We gave him the bottle to feed her. She'd rather starve.
He brought her a special gift… she perceived it as radioactive.
Finally, we stumbled upon a quasi-solution. It was safer for Sammy to talk to grandpa on FaceTime. So I had him call us, chat for a few minutes, and then enter the house—still on the same FaceTime call.
Did this completely solve our stranger danger issue? Not completely. But we all enjoyed watching her little brain try to parse how her grandfather could be both on the phone and walking in the front door. Maybe she warmed up to him 20% faster.
Was this a win? No. I didn't "fix" the problem. But it wasn't a loss either because the frame was the game. I got satisfaction from being surprised by slightly different results in my ongoing experiment.
But here's the annoying part: as most moms quickly realize, no one really cares about your experiments or quasi-solutions. Our culture doesn't value this work.
This is part of what high-achieving women grieve when they become mothers: when the feedback loops are mostly internal, it's lonely.
III. The Agency of Motherhood (vs. Insanity)
If there's little to no external validation, how do you know if you're building Motherhood Agency or just going insane?
"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."
Einstein was misquoted for saying this, but regardless of attribution, the phrase has etched itself in my brain.
Mothers are so worn out that sometimes we don't have the energy to tinker, so we default to doing the same thing over and over again, hoping for different results. We do this because sometimes we get lucky and the same action gets a different reaction… because (as discussed) kids are living systems that continue to change.
In my experience, doing the same thing over and over again with my children while hoping for different results felt worse than experimenting and failing. The chances of a change in behavior were like winning a scratch-off lottery prize: achievable with enough purchases and scratches, but usually not worth more than $1 in prizes.
For those moms reading this and thinking, "Maggie, I can barely get through my days… I'm so exhausted, you're losing me"—let me say this: acquiring a gamemaster framework might not yet be your main problem to solve. Perhaps you need to solve for your physical energy first.
And even if you do have the energy but can't quite get to the gamemaster metaphor yet, cut yourself a break. You can still build agency with a modified win/loss framework by asking yourself:
Is this action moving me and my child toward connection? Not "did this work?" but "did this moment create more closeness (win) or more distance (loss)?"
Am I choosing this, or just reacting? Not "what should I do?" (loss) but "what do I actually want to try here?" (win)
This is also The Agency of Motherhood.
IV. Airplanes and Body Bags
Over Thanksgiving, my four-year-old got food poisoning en route from LA to London. Of course I hadn't packed an extra change of clothes. My rationale: she knows how to use the bathroom, and I didn't want to overstuff my carry-on.
After my poor little Sammy girl destroyed every inch of her outfit, a kindly flight attendant came to the rescue. Sure, she made me single-handedly clean the bathroom. But she also gave us a very special gift: Sammy deplaned in a toga—the sheet they wrap bodies in if someone dies mid-flight. That's what she wore through customs, just her birthday suit underneath.
We survived. She melted down at customs. I laughed because the situation was insane. And I have amazing toga photos that I share with my mom friends as a triumph.
Mid-flight, when I made peace with the fact that I wasn't going to sleep a wink and that my daughter was going to be naked in the airport except for a sheet, I adjusted the rules of "the game."
The ability to choose your direction inside the chaos is Motherhood Agency too.
V. Why This Is Harder
Choosing direction without certainty can feel reckless. You might be pushing back: "Adjusting again and again and again feels like I'm never getting anywhere."
And here's the thing: This new agency requires a level of trust in yourself that the old model never demanded.
You must trust your own judgment and create your own metrics for evaluation.
It's hard to make this shift until the old agency model (the one that made you a high-performing, high-achieving woman) goes in the trash. Not for all things, but just for this.
But when you let it go and start leveraging this new framework (slightly paradoxical, I'll admit), it becomes energizing. You kinda start feeling like a superhero.
The shift looks like this:
Old Agency --> New Agency
Clear (external) feedback --> Internal feedback (and observation)
Control --> Iteration
Certainty --> Uncertainty
Right Answer --> Direction and adjustment
Next week I'll introduce a practice that helped me drop into this framework. And unconsciously, it's been a core driver behind my desire to create a diaper changing and potty learning product system.
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