More Than Just A Mother: my open letter to assholes

I’m a bitch, I’m a lover, I’m a child, I’m a mother, I’m a sinner, I’m a saint…. I’m not going to shrink myself to fit your expectations. yeah, I’m raising two incredible little girls. and yeah, I’m a married woman. but you know what else? I’m still me.

no label defines me. not everyone’s definition of perfect will apply to me. never will I water myself down, smooth over all the tiny details that make me, me just to be your worry stone. no one should have that weight on their shoulders.

but even as you read this, agreeing with me- here we are. forcing women to forfeit apart of herself to fit into society’s perfect little label. everyone has a preconceived notion of what that ‘mom’ label means. if you’re unlucky enough to fall short on one of those values-BAM! you’re an unfit mom. even if you do live up to those values the second you coast into their danger zone you’re labeled as an unfit mom. why?

why do we insist on adding to the absolute shit show that’s raising children? oooh I took a risqué photo before my kids got up… while getting ready for work. so what? this mom bod is HOT + I am FEELING MYSELF. posting this photo makes me feel empowered! if another, childless 23 year old posted this would you still care? and if you’re still mad, why do you let someone else’s choices in life affect your happiness?

personally I’ve always felt more empowered with my tits half out. after nourishing my girls with these darn diggity dang titties that empowerment has multiplied! so I’ll continue to flaunt what I got and if that bugs you—suck it up.

my vocabulary rivals that of a well-educated sailor, so what? my kids know those sentence enhancers as “mommy/daddy words” and hardly say them. who’s it hurting?

the holy band shirts, docs, ripped jeans/mini skirt will always be my goto. yeah I’m a sucker for the cottagecore hippie aesthetic-it’s called range bb-but I’m still only letting the song stuck in my head pick what I’m wearing. not you.

not everything we listen to is Disney or Baby Shark. we have the most fun jamming out to our favorite Blink and Stevie Nicks and Nirvana and Flatbush and Grateful Dead and Tech and Santana and Iron Maiden and…

the seasonal hair colors, rambles, evermultipling tattoos, paganism, faul vocabulary, daydreams, cult movie references, mental health advocacy, artistic passions, activism, the Marvel/Whedonverse/Sar Wars/Doctor Who/Disney/Monty Python obsession? still all me babe. the kids, pretty ring and all those other labels are just the cherries on top of this sweet, layered sundae that is ME.

Just like everyone else; labels do not define me.

if it’s not your body, your life, your children, you don’t get a say. as long as everyone’s safe and happy, you don’t get a say. period.

so fellow mommas. I encourage you to embrace your true colors—whatever that is. get back to you. say “fuck that” to all the ways you’ve censored, water downed or changed yourself after becoming ‘mom’

find your way back to you and screw anybody that tells you who you should be!

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