The TRUTH About Motherhood

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Are Alpha Women the Reason So Many Marriages Are Failing?
Do you think as Alpha Women are taking back their “bossy” and leaning in so hard that maybe we are forcing men out?
Are Alpha Women responsible for causing so many failed marriages and entitled kids who are products of these divorces? FOX news thinks so. Wait a minute…FOX news doesn’t think, they just speak.
I recently watched this video segment on FOX news and was flabbergasted. I was sure that someone had posted an Onion piece posing as a FOX “news” piece but then again, what comes out of FOX news channel these days shouldn’t surprise me. They are the conservative news outlet and apparently, they don’t so much report the news as bend it to their will to support their conservative agenda. Or maybe it was an Onion piece? I kinda hope it is.
Apparently, as we women “lean in”, men are forced to lean out to avoid being completely annihilated. Now that a whopping 24% of women make more money than their husbands, the conservative dogma is about to implode upon itself. (Women typically make 23% less than men, so obviously if these women are making 24% more than their husbands, they are having to work just about 150% harder for that.)
In this particular piece, it was stated that social pressures in the U.S. for men to be breadwinners are what may cause the marital problems. Obviously, the answer is for women to stop being so damn Alpha and let their men do what God intended, take care of women. Only there is one f*cking problem, men don’t always take care of women and secondly, not all women want to be at the mercy of some man to make her dreams come true.
Look, our whole lives, women have been told that in order to succeed in life we need to get married and have children, keep a clean house, cook well and look good while doing it all. We are not supposed to think or have free will if it interferes with the grand scheme of things. If what we want to do interferes with what he wants to do, we are expected o acquiesce because you know… the vagina thing. Just accept our fates already. We have vaginas, they make us weak so we need big, hairy men to take care of us. Huh?
In fact, let’s back up, what constitutes ALPHA WOMEN?
Is FOX News trying to insinuate that strong women are the problem? Are we suppose to teach our girls to bend to the will of men and take less than they deserve just to make the men in their lives feel better? Because I’ve got to tell you, that will never happen in my house. We teach our girls to do their best, work their hardest and go for whatever they want. We teach them that anything is possible. I’m raising Alpha Girls.
The question was raised, “Do women LIKE being taken care of?” Well, I have a two-part answer for that. First of all, what does taken care of mean? Financial security? Shelter? Food? Or emotional support and love?
My first answer is yes! Of course, every person (man and woman) loves to be taken care of in a way that they have a partner that reciprocates unconditional love and support. Do we all like having someone in our life that will carry us through when we are down or give us a hand when we have fallen? Of course, we do. Doesn’t everyone? Do we like being financially stable and being provided a beautiful home and things? Of course, that is human nature. But do I expect my husband to provide my everything? No. He is my partner and I am his. We get through this life together. If being “taken care of” means my husband going to work every day while I stay home and work my tail off and that equals him getting to do whatever he wants while I get to be subservient, then no thank you. We take care of each other over here.
No one is leaning over crushing the other under his or her weight. Sure there are sometimes when he is the star and I let him shine and there are other times when I am leaning in so hard, he picks up all the slack. This is not him doing me a favor or me letting go of my dreams to support his. We do this for one another. No, marriage is not 100% equal all of the time. You are a fool if you think it is. But in the grand scheme of things, if you add up our years together and divide them by when ones been the star and the other has been the wind beneath the wings; it’s just about even.
I don’t make anywhere near as much as my husband does these days but when we were first out of college, I was the only one working while he interviewed for months. We lived together. There was no animosity. I worked while he looked for a job. Every night we sat down together for dinner, both of us had worked all day; one at a place of business the other at home. I appreciated everything he did for our home. I respected him for being a participant in our marriage and supporting me emotionally during that time in our life.
Once we had children, we made the decision that I would stay home. To be honest, I made the decision and he completely supported me. Since he had been home, he knew what had to be done to keep a home running. Once we had the children, he knew I was at home raising our babies. He knew all the other stuff I was doing as well and he supported me. We moved several times throughout our marriage for his dreams and now, he supports me in pursuing mine. When I go to conferences or on press trips, he is able to be flexible at his place of employment. He’ll work from home when I travel. When I have deadlines, he makes dinner. He knows how to give the girls a ballet bun. He takes them to ballet on nights when I need to host a Twitter party or have a Google chat about business.
In our home there are no master and servant roles, there are only 2 people who have loved and supported one another for the past 16 years. There are no man’s work or woman’s work, there are only things that need to get done and we do it…together. The idea that a man would divorce a committed, loving wife for making more money then him I ludicrous and only proves how stupid it is to let male pride and machismo get in the way of happiness.
In truth, the Big Guy says if I ever make enough money to be the sole breadwinner, he’d be more than happy to stay home with the girls and consult for a living. He gets pretty excited at the dream of an early retirement.
Don’t get me wrong, I believe that finances most certainly can contribute to the divorce rate but that usually has more to do with a lack of money. Our philosophy has always been that as long as we have one another’s love and support and the true desire to be together, there are very few problems that we couldn’t work through. Next week, we celebrate 15 years of marriage so apparently, what we do has been working for us.
Alpha women, Alpha Men, Alpha Babies and Alpha Dogs, we love them all.
2014/05/06
I Never Held You, But I’ll Always Love You
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Every year, I dread this day because I never know how I’m going to feel. Am I going to be functional? Am I going to be in the fetal position? Will I feel a certain type of way? Or Will I cry? Will I break shit? Will the day pass nonchalantly? I think that’s the one I fear more than even completely forgetting… being able to go on with my life like nothing’s missing. Existing while pushing down the miscarriage anniversary grief that is always just a hair away from bubbling to the surface.
Maybe it’s because the baby I lost would be turning 13 years old this year (and that’s a huge milestone)? Or maybe it’s because my youngest daughter is graduating from high school and turning 18 years old this month? Maybe it’s because my oldest daughter, my closest friend, is going away for college in the fall? Maybe it’s the state of the world? Or maybe it’s feeling helpless, hopeless and overwhelmed. Maybe it’s all the forced change and letting go with no way to stop it. No one asked me.
I just know that today, I feel like someone gashed open my scarred-over wound and left me bleeding and broken on the ground. It fucking hurts.
When will it stop hurting? How can anyone ever get over this kind of loss? It lingers with me daily; like a ghost of a memory that never fully existed in this world. It’s believing without ever truly knowing. It’s desperately missing what you never got to hold. How can I miss someone so heartbrokenly who I never even got to lay eyes on him beyond a sonogram?
It’s been 13 years since I heard those words, “ I’m sorry, I can’t find a heartbeat”. 13 years since my entire world imploded and changed me forever. It seems like yesterday ( the pain is still so fresh in my heart), but then again, it feels like it happened a lifetime ago, to someone else. But that’s only because the wound has long scarred over. The underlying pain, throbbing right beneath the surface, fickle and erratic, ready to go from 3 to 10 with the whisper of the wrong word or the thought of a memory that will never exist. How do you love someone so much and go on living without them? Is that even living?
Miscarriage anniversary grief is very real and seldom spoke of because everyone just wants to forget it happened.
But what about the mother’s with empty arms and overflowing hearts. What are we supposed to do with all of this love? Our grief is the proof that our children existed.
It is living, but it’s only a semblance of the life you were evolving into; the trauma and pain of losing your child changes you in ways that only another mother can comprehend because a mother’s love is unlike any other love in the world. A mother is the one person in this world who will love you no matter what. She will defend you with her life because without you, she is unwhole.
So here I sit, in my bed, still in my pajamas at 2:17 p.m. mourning and remembering a child that I loved more than myself but never had the privilege of holding in my arms. It may seem weird to hold so tight but sometimes it feels like he never existed. I have to be his legacy.
The thing is I’m no quitter. I’ve never quit a thing in my life. It’s just not how I’m built but, honestly, I feel like my body failed my baby and I can never pay that debt. It lingers in my heart that maybe my uncertainty and hesitation about being a mom at 39, maybe it was some cosmic punishment for not being as enthusiastic at our unexpected blessing? I have grief from the loss mixed with guilt for my body failing my child. I’ll carry that weight until the day I die. I’ll always feel responsible for lacking.
But, that’s all I can do for atonement is live with guilt. I can’t do anything to bring my baby back and I never could. Sometimes things just don’t work out, for no reason at all; no matter how much you wanted it. No matter how much you loved it. No matter how scared or unsure you were. None of it mattered. It just wasn’t meant to be and I have to learn to live with that.
Miscarriage Anniversary Grief
It never goes away. No matter how I wish none of it were true and you, my sweet baby, were here with me. I never got the chance to hold you in my arms and read these lines to you, my sweet baby, but today…I feel it’s time to say the words I never could to you…
“ I’ll love you forever
I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living
My baby you’ll be”
XOXO, Mommy
2025/05/01
How to Keep Your Shit Together
Estimated reading time: 7 minutes
These past few weeks of motherhood have been thus far some of the hardest ever. Shit has happened that no one teaches you about in the parenting books. I’ve studied the whole of the DSM and I still couldn’t have been prepared, as a mother, for the kind of emotional toll that has been taken on me. That’s why I’m realizing how to protect your mental health while taking care of everyone else is so important for parents.
You know there are things you expect, in the back of your head, in the bottom of your heart and right there in the pit of your stomach. Things that you know can happen, like all those terrible side effects they warn you of when you are taking the drugs that will save your life. You take them anyways because living is more important than having the shakes. Well, my friends, this shit was not on the warning label when I got pregnant. Or maybe it was and I chose not to believe it.
I have been struggling with mental illness since the teen years. There is a whole list of disorders and illnesses that I can speak of at length and in-depth. That should have been a red flag to me that maybe I needed to be a little more prepared for what could happen if the girls got triggered. But, I thought, I’ve got this. I found my way out of the darkness. It’ll be fine. And it was until it wasn’t anymore.
In my teen years, my mind was held hostage in a dark abyss. I couldn’t find my way out or at least it felt like I couldn’t but, true to Debi fashion, one step at a time, one moment at a time, I survived. Barely. Even though there were days when it was so painful to be alive that I prayed something or someone would kill me because I couldn’t do it myself and hurt my mom. She was my savior and she had no idea of the dark thoughts that were infiltrating my brain. It’s probably better that way. But I know.
In those days, it hurt to breathe because it felt counterintuitive and I cried more tears than I thought were even possible. But, my childhood was tumultuous to put it nicely. A lot of bad shit happened to me and when you’re a kid, you can only take so much before you break. Or so I thought. I’m more resilient than I ever imagined because I never actually broke, I just bent as far as my child mind and body could.
I promised myself that I would never allow that to be my daughters’ stories. They would live a “normal” life. As if I even know what that looks like. I promised myself they would never be triggered and I thought I could protect them from my same fate. But I was wrong. There are some things we can’t actually stop from happening, no matter how hard we try or how ‘good’ we are at this parenting thing. Maybe this is why I feel like such a fraud when people compliment me. I know the truth. There are simply some things that are beyond our control. That’s a hard and bitter pill for this recovering smother mother to swallow.
How to protect your mental health while taking care of everyone else is a hard, but imperative, balance to find
Today, I took my daughter to her first adolescent group therapy session. Never expected that to be a milestone. She almost cried when I left her. I almost cried when I left her in a room full of strange kids in their own turmoil. Is this a good idea? Is she going to get ideas or learn bad habits? But isn’t this supposed to help her live? All that matters is that she makes it through, by any means possible. She is the most important thing in my life. She and her sister are truly my entire reason why.
A couple of weeks ago, her depressive episode got so bad that I could see her slipping into that same dark abyss that I used to live in. I lived there for years. I honestly thought I’d never escape. I resigned myself to living there alone with my pain until it killed me. For me, it started at 12-years-old with body dysmorphia, then the major depression and suicidal ideations started around freshman year of high school, onto eating disorders beginning around 17 ( bulimia then anorexia with extreme exercising), and ultimately a diagnosis of bipolar 1 when I spent most of my college years and my mid 20’s manic AF. I didn’t have my first panic attack until I was 35-years-old but according to my psychiatrist, anxiety was there first.
As a child, I was prone to terrible stomach aches that landed me in the emergency room on more than one occasion. That’s how little Debi’s anxiety from living with an abusive, alcoholic father first manifested. But I learned quickly, around 7-years-old, how to develop my coping mechanisms. I’m a counter. It worked for years until my husband lost his job when I was 35. #mommysfirstpanicattack Yep, if I’m anxious and talking to people (pushing through my anxiety) I’m probably counting every word you are saying and all the letters in the words. I know I’m an extrovert but I also have my limits. I didn’t even realize I counted or what it meant until about a year into my therapy. Did I mention now ADHD is on the table? Aye aye aye. Like seriously, what the actual fuck?
Anyways, most if not all of these things are in control ( save for a little mania that gets triggered when I’m under duress…you know like when you’re dealing with the guilt and pressure of passing along your fucked up brain chemistry to your children). You have not had mom guilt of this level if you haven’t genetically fucked your kids up. It is a special kind of hell because it is in fact my fault. I’ve been crying about this a lot lately.
Right now, I’m trying to keep my shit together while putting out a seemingly unlimited amount of mental health trash fires over here daily. It’s a lot. I’m overwhelmed. I’m triggered and I’m trying my best to do what’s best for everyone, especially my girls. I thought I was holding it together. I mean I know that on the inside, I’m falling apart but I thought on the outside, I was taking care of business. I think I am for the most part but I’m neglecting myself. I know this because the other days while I was sobbing about my daughter’s mental health crisis, I could hear my pressured speech and feel my pressured thoughts machine-gunning out of my head and my husband gave me a hug and said, “But Debi, you haven’t looked happy for a while.” And he’s not wrong. I’m too overwhelmed and exhausted and scared to be happy because what right do I have when my children are in pain?
That’s how I know that I need to step back, take inventory and do whatever I need to do to get my own mental health in order. Because skipping myself isn’t doing any favors for my children or my husband. In fact, I’m adding to the pile of neverending trash fires currently going on. Look, I’m not complaining. This is me processing. I write, that’s how I survive.
If you’ve ever wondered why my feeds are not perfectly curated, it’s not because I don’t know that it’s what people want its because I refuse to live a lie. My battle with eating disorders made me a liar for about 8 solid years. You have to lie to hide the fact that you are slowly killing yourself from the people who love you. If not, they will stop you from your slow suicide. And I preferred to exile myself from everyone than to let them know how truly vulnerable and pathetic I was.
I spent so many years striving for perfection and I’m still a fucking relentless overachiever. It’s just who I am. If I stop moving I die. But now, with years of therapy and doing the work to not only understand my disease but myself, I will never silently suffer again and I don’t want that for my daughters either. I never want them to feel that alone and afraid to live.
So how do I protect my mental health while taking care of everyone else? I have to be vigilant that I take care of myself first or I won’t be able to take care of anyone else. I know from a mom’s perspective, it sounds very selfish but it’s not. It is giving myself permission to heal so that I can help the people I love the most heal and get the help they need with my full support.
Give Yourself a Time-Out (But Actually Take It)
We’re all great at putting the kids in time-out when they need a breather, but how often do we do that for ourselves? Next time you feel the storm brewing – whether it’s a panic attack on the horizon or just a gnawing sense that you’re about to lose your sh*t – actually take a damn time-out for yourself. Lock yourself in the bathroom if you have to. Light a scented candle, hydrate, breathe deeply, and reconnect with yourself for a few sacred minutes.
Shamelessly Indulge in Your Vices Within reason, of course.
We all need small reprieves that are entirely our own – tiny pit stops of peace along this relentless race of motherhood. Maybe it’s those cigarettes you promised you’d quit, or a generous pour of red wine after the kids are in bed. Maybe it’s zoning out to trashy reality TV or snacking on the kids’ hidden stash of Halloween candy. Whatever your vice may be, indulge in it shamelessly and without guilt. You’re doing important work. You’ve earned it.
Outsource Your Overwhelm
Listen, you superwoman – there’s no award for doing it all yourself. Our villages have disbanded and the weight of everything has fallen on our overburdened mom-shoulders. So pay someone to clean your house for a few hours every week. Order meal delivery kits. Hire a college kid to mow the lawn. Get a damn robot vacuum, for Christ’s sake. Shed. That. Overwhelm. You’re a mom, not a martyr.
Reclaim Your Identity
When you became a mom, you were first reborn. Now it’s time to rediscover the human behind the caretaker. Schedule monthly mani/pedis or weekend trips with your girlfriends. Sign up for a painting or dance class for absolutely no reason other than you think it might be fun. Read books unrelated to parenting. Reminding yourself of the person you were before babies can be a balm for the soul.
Schedule Some “Me Time”
When you’re taking care of everyone and everything else, this can definitely seem like a long shot, right? But at the end of the day, you’re living your life, and that means you still have to take care of yourself. Something that might even mean putting everyone and everything else on the back burner for a bit so you can take care of yourself. After all, if you can’t take care of yourself, how can you take care of others?
But self-care means taking time to do what you want, Me Time- the time that moms almost never seem to get. Honestly, it can be whatever you want at whatever pace you want to. For example, if you want something intense like tennis, go for it; if you want something more relaxing like a digital crossword puzzle, then by all means, go for that!
You deserve to define your ‘me time” however you want. But you can’t neglect this either. You can only get yourself together if you let yourself have a break, your body and your mind needs this.
And a final word to all you fierce mamas out there: Put on your own oxygen mask first. Your mental health is precious cargo – without it, you can’t fully show up for those you love most. So prioritize your self-care. I’ll say it louder for the martyr moms in the back: You must prioritize your self-care! This isn’t just a friendly reminder, it’s an order from your resident Truth-Telling Mom. Now, share the hell out of this thing and tag a few mom friends who need to hear it!
2022/05/12
The illusive baby book
Before my girls were ever born, in the very early stages of conception , I became obsessed with chronicling every single thing they would ever do. There were the usual; first tooth, first time crawling, first time sleeping through the night, first solid food, first trip to Grandma’s..and so on and so forth. but were those other things that I just new I never wanted to forget too, first tantrum, first time they bit someone, first concert, first time they threw up on me, first time they danced with a Wiggle ( oh yeah, my girl got pulled up on the stage..it was very reminiscent of Courtney Cox and Bruce Springsteen but with hot potato and smashed banana…). There have been a lot of things I have recorded. But somewhere along the way, things went horribly wrong.
The “baby Book” that I so painstakingly searched for and found after countless hours of searching the shelves of multiple bookstores has been forgotten. I mean its here. I know where it is….I think.Somehow it’s been reduced to random pieces of paper, napkins, tissues with dates and occasions on them. To be honest, I am praying I wrote the year and the child because it may just be the action and the date. I was so in the moment that I never thought I’d forget the first day Bella laughed so hard that she blew milk out her nose, or the day 11 month old Gabs (I’m not 100% sure but I’m pretty sure, all the signs tell me) ingested shit. Let’s just say there was poop on her hands, and it looked like poop on her face. That’s all I’m saying. Yeah, I called the doctor..there was nothing they could do but tell me to keep an eye on her, give me a statistic about how 100% of all money has traces of human feces on it (EWWWW! I’m not sure if they were trying to make me feel better or worse), and I’m pretty sure they they made a mark somewhere ( you know some special database accessible to DCFS….1 eff up you’re a dumb ass, 2 eff up’s they’re coming in and taking the kids away!) It was an accident people, if it even happened….which I’m not sure it did!
Anyways, I digress ( as always). My point being, I have become accustomed to writing these little forget me not notes, or stashing tickets to their first movies, or a napkin from their birthday party because it ~~was~~
is going in the book at some not yet determined time in the near future . It’s gotten so bad that now, whenever anything happens my 5 year old promptly exclaims ” Hey , Mommy. You’re putting that in the baby book, right?” I’m really not sure if she is being facetious, or serious. Either way, it makes me feel like a rat..lower than a rat..like a flea on a rat.
This weekend, I came to a life altering decision… I am going on a scavenger hunt. I am determined to find each and every single piece of tissue, toilet paper, napkin, scratch pad paper containing rogue information that I can find. When I do, I am going to bring that illusive Baby Book up to date. I plan to gather my randomly placed post it notes of my children’s life thus far and my scattered thoughts on the whole thing and put together the most effing awesome Baby Book to ever walk the face of the earth ( you know what I mean). I’m thinking I may just have to arm myself with wine and water , lock myself in the basement with all the papers and power through and get it done. I wonder if they will ever know the depth and breadth to the sacrifices we make for them? That Silent Ninja Mommy assistant would be priceless right about now. Next on the agenda, the baby quilt I keep promising myself that I am making from their baby clothes. Also,with each passing day, my husbands ‘crazy’ idea that I log everything that happens in our children’s life into a file on the computer..seems to sound a lot better to me .
2010/06/14
How to Survive the Loss of a Pregnancy
Have you ever suffered the loss of a pregnancy? Today is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day. I know October is National everything month but I would like you all to pause for just a moment today and remember all the mothers who lost their everything and children who never got to be held. We can’t forget the loss of a pregnancy is the loss of our child that would’ve been; it’s how to survive a miscarriage.
My story is not unique or special but my loss was life-changing for me. In that one moment, my life was altered for eternity. The loss of a pregnancy sounds so simple but I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to survive a miscarriage. The statistics all say that it is common but it doesn’t feel statistically accurate. I can’t imagine how so many women are suffering so stoically, such a deep and profound sorrow. My heart was irreparably damaged and in its place, a gaping wound remains that can never be filled. It’s a kind of primal pain that is indescribable.
READ ALSO: Mourning Mother Won’t Let go of Baby
I don’t think that the loss of a pregnancy or infant is like anything else, we will ever experience in our lifetime and I can say for certain that it is nothing I would ever wish on even my worst enemy.
It’s like dying but still being alive. It’s having to carry on when you want to crawl into yourself and cease to exist. It’s survival at the most. It’s a vulnerability that, to this day, still brings me to my knees on occasion. The only thing worse that I can imagine is losing a living child who’ve you’ve spent years loving and knowing.
The worst part about the loss of a pregnancy or infant is what a single solitary loss it is. Surviving a miscarriage is like surviving the apocalypse and your entire family dying, do you even want to survive?
You will never feel so alone as you do when your womb is empty because you feel like your body failed you and no one feels it the way you do. Others know that you lost your pregnancy or your infant but in a few weeks or months, they can forget it if they choose and carry on. And they usually do and you are left feeling like a crazy person who misses terribly this tiny person we never met. You begin to question your sanity, especially when others look at you like “when is she ever going to get over this.” Worse, they actually are afforded the luxury of forgetting that it ever happened to you. Oh yes, they do and no I never will “get over it”.
Every May 1^st(The day I survived my miscarriage) and November 24^th (our child’s due date), I observe as days of remembrance. I feel the loss every single day but on those two days of the year, I allow myself to feel all of my feelings. Sometimes, I sob the entire day, sometimes I am numb and others, I am still and thankful that even for that short time, my baby was with me and for the two beautiful children that I do get to hold because there are those of us who never got to hold any of their children.
I am past the point of feeling raw or envious when friends tell me that they are pregnant. I am happy for them. In fact, I love seeing them get to experience that love and complete sense of purpose. I no longer ask “why me?” because there is no point. My little one has finally stopped asking for a sibling, and that has helped immensely. My guilt is beginning to alleviate some. My feeling of failure is slowly fading like an old photo.
I do however know how fragile and fleeting life is and that has made me a different kind of mother to my children. If I am being completely honest, I still don’t think that I could survive a loss of one of my girls. (That’s not a tempt fate, so please forget that I even thought that) but the pain nearly killed me and for a little while, it completely destroyed my sanity. It’s hard to be rational when you are a frightened, exposed nerve in the world. I am aware that I am a little more protective of my girls than maybe I should be but you have to understand, they are my everything.
READ ALSO: When a Tattoo Heals Your Heart
I’ve been searching for something to immortalize the baby that I lost, to give me closure in a way. I feel like I need something to mark his existence, proof that he ever existed at all. That he was here. That the Big Guy and I loved him more than anything else in the world, just like we do our two girls. I know that nothing can fill that hole in my heart but I want people to know that I am the mother to 3 children. I was pregnant 3 times. It happened. I’m not crazy. I didn’t imagine it. I am not over it.
I’ve finally decided on a tattoo that I think is perfect. It’s a poem, one that I’ve quoted to my girls since they were babies. I am going to have it tattooed on my left-hand side rib cage, near my heart because that is where my children always are with me, in my heart, forever…even if you don’t see them or forget they exist. For me, they are always right there with me.
If you’ve ever experienced the loss of a pregnancy take today to feel your feelings.
Be kind to yourself. There is no right or wrong way to feel. There is no expiration date on loving a child. It doesn’t matter who else remembers or cares, you do.
We all have our wounds. They might not show on the outside but they are there. Be kind to one another and cherish every single moment with the people you love, especially the little people, because time is fleeting.
2014/10/15
Damn you Bree Van de Kamp!
Anyone who has ever read my blog knows that I am a super advocate of sisterhood. I think that cat fights between women are ridiculous and that if we all spent a lot more time being real and supporting each other, life would be so much better for all of us. Why does it always have to be a competition? My kid does this, does yours? My husband makes this much money, what does yours make? My house is bigger than yours. It truly is a pissing contest for women! I can keep the house immaculate, my kids listen to everything I say, sleep in their own beds, go to bed at a reasonable hour with no drama, they are reading at a 5th grade level @ the age of four, I eat but can not gain weight, my husband just keeps getting better looking, and my kids are absolute perfection, did I mention they eat absolutely everything I put in front of them. The laundry seems to do itself, I love to cook gourmet meals for every meal, I am completely organic, I made all the baby food and my babies only wore cloth diapers and drank organic, non tainted by caffeine or alcohol breasts milk. P.S. My shit doesn’t stink! I live in a mansion on the corner of bliss and perfection…or was that delusional and insanity? And you? OK, Bree friggin Van de Kamp…you are not real, you are some convoluted conjuring of what some crazy tv exec thought real life is…not even in the 1950’s, my brother sister!If we’d stop trying to make the other Mommies think we have it all under control without even breaking a sweat, maybe, just maybe we’d have some back up in the trenches instead of one more enemy trying to kill our spirits and crush our souls!
So, as if that is not bad enough, that we are all running around lying to each other about how perfect and easy our lives are, we are inadvertently (or maybe purposefully) making other women (Mommies ,specifically) feel like they are losers because they don’t think life is easy or perfect and neither are their kids and their husband. I mean ,myself, I’ve actually winced at the prospect of having to go to the grocery store, been brought to tears trying to figure out what the hell to wear out in public to drop my kids off at some class or other, the dishes make me want to kill someone ( actually just myself..I truly hate dishes!I am not above existing on paper products!), my girls still miraculously end up in our bed in the middle of the night, I have actually been reduced to feeding them cereal for dinner (only once..I promise)….though, I must confess, my kids are pretty perfect….to me! All kids are perfect to their parents! My point is my fellow desperate housewives, we would not all be so damn desperate if we could all just get along! Next time you feel overcome with the need to blow crazy smoke up your own ass, in a coffee induced fog of meanness, Please remember that Mommy that you are making feel 2 inches tall would probably serve you better as a cheerleader than as a doormat!
PSA: Please be kind to your fellow Mommies! She is not your enemy, she is your sister, your friend, your confidant, your tether to sanity!
2010/03/14
Like taking Candy from a Baby
Before we had children, the Big Guy and I were all about Halloween. It was all about the haunted houses, getting the cream filling scared right out of us, picking out a cute costume and having a great party to celebrate.It was always over the top and spooky and we loved it.We lived for it.
Halloween 2008
Now things are different. Now, we have our girls. Halloween is all about dressing up like your favorite story book character, walking around the neighborhood and hearing people ooh and ahh over our girls as they tell them “Here, you’re so cute. Take a couple more pieces!”I find it quite hilarious. I told my husband last night, this whole being cute making life easier thing starts early in life.I’d never noticed before. I couldn’t believe how many houses the girls went up to and some elderly gentleman ( Grandpa like) or Daddy type would tell my girls to take an extra helping from the goodie basket. Really, maybe I was over analyzing the whole thing, maybe it was my sickness impeding my senses but we tell our kids not to talk to strangers. We raise them to never take candy from strangers. I try to raise my daughters to know that their worth as a being has nothing to do with the way they look.Yet, we go out on Halloween trick or treating..begging for candy from strangers.Cohorting with strange adults for candy.Smiling and kowtowing for a piece of candy. Then on top of all these mixed messages, they are actually being given more candy simply for being cute.I guess this is where it all begins. This is where little girls learn that being attractive makes life easier for you; that it makes the world respond to you in a more attentive way.
Halloween 2009
What kind of message am I sending to my girls? I’m sure this went on when I was a kid too but I didn’t pay attention because I WAS the kid.I was just ecstatic to get the candy.I didn’t think of mixed messages or talking to pedophiles but now all that comes flooding to my brain when I think about my girls.Funny how, my biggest concern at Halloween was razor blades in apples and cyanide ridden popcorn balls ( remember, Mom used to toss those things directly into the garbage?)now I have to consider pedophiles, non politically correct feminist squashing candy tactics, and how to explain how it is wrong to talk to strangers ever..except for on Halloween night.Life was so much simpler when my biggest worry was whether or not I would get scared enough.Then, I had children and what scares me the most is that the worrying will never cease. Having your heart walk around outside your body is hard work.Happy Halloween!
Halloween 2010
2010/11/01
The Honest Truth About Mom Burnout
Estimated reading time: 4 minutes
Hey mama, let’s get real for a sec. That exhaustion you’ve been feeling? The short fuse, the cynicism, the desire to abandon ship and move to a remote island away from tiny humans? Girl, you’re burned. the. fuck. out. Mom burnout, it’s not a joke.
I get it, I really do. Motherhood, while incredible, is a marathon like no other. The relentless cycle of caring for kids, managing the household, maybe even clocking in at a 9-5…it’s enough to turn any woman into a brittle, hollowed-out husk just going through the motions.
But what if I told you there’s a way to pull yourself out of that dark pit of burnout before it swallows you whole? Spoiler alert: Self-care isn’t just a trendy buzzword. It’s a critical survival tactic for moms on the brink.
Now, now…before you roll your eyes and claim you “don’t have time for that,” hear me out. I’m about to drop some game-changing, mom-tested secrets for injecting those self-care habits into your life in tiny, sustainable ways. No luxurious spa weekends or Marie Kondo-level overhauls required.
The Bare Minimum, Maximum Impact Routine:
Become a Morning Person (Yeah, I Said It)
Those pre-kid wake-up calls might seem like fresh hell, but here’s the truth bomb: Waking up even 30-60 minutes before your little ones do ensures that you have a sliver of precious “me” time to myself. Read, journal, meditate (enjoy your coffee while it’s still hot) or even just get ready…do whatever soothes your soul before the morning chaos erupts.
Top Tip: Place your alarm across the room, so you’re forced to GET UP. Trust me, hitting snooze robs you of this sacred recharge window.
Schedule Your Mom Burnout Breaks
Working mom or stay-at-home, we all need periodic respites throughout the day to pause and catch our breath. Set recurring reminders to take 5-10 minute breaks: a quick walk ( or a 5K…whatever makes you happy) around the block, a warm beverage on the patio, or a solo dance party in the living room (this one doubles as cardio!).
The key is being ruthless about taking these “burnout breaks.” These momentary reprieves act as a reset, helping you avoid those meltdown moments of overwhelm.
Reclaim Your Shower
We’ve all had days where showers feel like monumental chores we don’t have bandwidth for. Except showering, when intentional, can be a micro self-care ritual!
Create a spa-like experience by upgrading with a loofah, body scrub, and luxe hair products. Turn on a timed water-resistant speaker and belt out anthems like you’re Taylor freakin’ Swift for 20 blissful minutes. Emerge anew, a rejuvenated, pruney ( experiencing substantially less mom burnout) goddess!
Get Horizontal
I’m orbiting closer to midlife, so downtime is precious. But whenever possible, I’ll drop onto my bed for 20-30 minutes and simply lay there, supine and sans responsibilities. I rarely am able to nap, but a night mask goes a long way to concealing that fact. They don’t need to know I’m awake. Think of it as a “do not disturb” sign.
Read, doze, or simply press the reset button. Little rituals like these, while small, have massive energizing effects to carry us through those burnout danger zones.
Happy Hour (The Mocktail Edition or not, you’re grown)
As an unwavering low tox enthusiast, I’ve sworn off hangovers as self-care. But mixing up delicious, whimsical cocktails is still my fix! These days I’m more into nootropics and adaptogens but whatever makes you happy.
Blend up mocktails with fresh juices, herbs, and bubbles for an effervescent happy hour experience. Or reserve wine glasses for refreshing aguas frescas. These tiny oases of tranquility will whisk you away, if only briefly, from the mom grind.
Listen, friend. I’m not here to preach about finding the glorified “life balance.” That mythical ideal is a toxic trap that just fuels our burnout cycles! We can have it all, just not all at the same time.
Instead, I’m offering you these micro self-care habits to ease the load incrementally. Do them regularly, or don’t do them at all. Self-care without guilt or pressure!
When we make replenishing our cups a non-negotiable ritual woven into our days, we rewire our perspectives. What once felt like an indulgence becomes a survival staple.
And from that point, everything shifts. We shed the frantic, all-consuming burnout haze and rediscover the joy in this wild ride of raising humans. We’re more present, patient, and emotionally replenished to show up boldy for our families.
That’s the truth, mama. So go ahead, put on your tough-but-needs-love mom blinders and commit to these bite-sized acts of self-preservation. I’m rooting for you!
2024/04/29
Why this Mother’s Day was More Special than Any Other
I wasn’t sure what to expect this year for Mother’s Day. Normally, my only wish is peace, a clean house and not be needed. I appreciate a good day off of mom duty. I know it sounds selfish when so many moms just want to celebrate with their children or their moms but really all I want is a quiet house with no one asking anything of me. I want 24 hours of no responsibilities and no one depending on me for anything. I want to just be me. Somehow this Mother’s Day was more special than any other.
Normally, what I’ve wanted is exactly what the Big Guy has given me. It’s a Queen for the day situation. Well, to be honest, with the Big Guy, he always treats me like a queen just this queen has to do dishes and break up bickering matches between teenagers and fold laundry. Being a queen is not all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes, I just want to drive somewhere with my favorite music blaring singing at the top of my lungs or eat what I want to eat or watch a rated R movie or binge a foreign film series without judgment. I hate the feeling of expectation. You know when the world gives you some side-eye as it wonders pretty damn aloud, why you aren’t doing something else…something they deem productive? No, just me?
READ ALSO: A Mother’s Day I’ll Never Forget
I grew up in a house where weekends were not for sleeping in; they were for waking up even earlier to get more done. And you never had the luxury of being bored because my father would find some household chore for you to do. Everything was never always done and there was plenty to go around. And so, now, I find I almost impossible to relax if anyone else is around. If you are anyone who could possibly expect anything from me…you can rest assured that I cannot relax.
But this year, Mother’s Day fell on quarantine, so did the anniversary of my miscarriage which I observe every year as my national day of grief (this year I had an audience because everyone was underfoot), as did my husband’s birthday, our 21^st wedding anniversary is this weekend and my daughter’s 13^th birthday. This shelter in place is really jacking up life as we know it. My expectations for Mother’s Day were pretty low.
I didn’t expect gifts because who can go shopping. I didn’t expect fancy brunches at a restaurant or visits from my mom or my sisters. All I wanted was my day off but how? We’re all in this quarantine together so I couldn’t really expect alone time. All I really wanted was no bickering between the kids, no housework for me and not to have to worry about dinner. Done, done and done. But something was different, aside from the world being in a coronavirus tizzy… my girls did something different.
READ ALSO: Sick, Fat and Nearly Dead on Mother’s Day
I don’t know if it’s the fact that we’ve all been quarantined for over 2 months or the fact that they are getting older or maybe they just were trying to make me happy with their thoughtfulness but they surprised me. Both girls posted sweet messages on Instagram with pictures of us from when they were little. It wasn’t about the picture on social media it was the fact that they said how much they loved and appreciated me, with specifics, online, in front of everyone. They’re teens.
Not to be that person but my 15-year-old called me, “Diosa,” which means goddess. Fuck a queen, my girl thinks I’m a goddess and she called me her best friend. Then, she thanked me for making her the “bad bitch” she is. Now, I don’t like women being called bitches but when my teen thinks of herself as a “bad bitch” I call that a mom win.
My youngest, who I’m pretty sure hates me on most days because fucking hormones and she is my teen wonder twin, told me not only that she loves me so much but more importantly she said that I’m always there for her and never give up on her which I don’t ever but I wasn’t sure she realized that until that moment. The fact that she does lets me know that I’m on the right track. God knows we moms spend so much time trying to figure out what’s going on in our kids’ heads. It was so nice for them to tell me.
READ ALSO: The Best Mother’s Day Gift Ever
Not going to lie, I’ve done a lot of shit in my life. I’ve accomplished a lot. I’m well-educated, well-traveled, I’m cultured and I believe that I can do anything that I set my mind to and still these two girls are and always will be my legacy, my greatest achievement. My goal is to raise good human beings and that’s a lifetime position. It’s hard work; it takes up all of my time, my energy, my heart and my soul but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Their words, those notes, unprompted and unsolicited expressions of love, meant more to me than any gift ever could.
I don’t know what you did for Mother’s Day or how your family celebrated you but I hope they made you feel like a Diosa, a goddess, and I hope you know how much they love and appreciate you. You’re a bad bitch and I see you. So when you’re tired, exhausted from no sleep, dealing with tantrums or bickering teens, sick children and it feels like nothing in the world is going right…you’re homeschooling and you’re never off duty, just remember inside the crazy storm of motherhood, there is a calmness. Motherhood is misery peppered with profound moments of bliss. I know I’m a day late because I was trying to just be yesterday but Happy Mother’s Day to each and every one of you. May the odds be ever in your favor.
2020/05/11
Jennifer Garner had the Audacity to Go Jogging Make-Up Free

Estimated reading time: 5 minutes
This past Saturday, actress and doting, single mom of three, Jennifer Garner, was spotted in her residential neighborhood of Brentwood jogging with a friend. While doing her best and incorporating some cardio exercise into her almost certainly busy day, she didn’t let the rain stop her.
The actress was caught running with a makeup-free face, hair pulled back in a messy bun, like most moms I know on most days. This is one of my absolute favorite things about Jennifer Garner, her relatability but at the same time absolute bad ass mom. Not everyone sees it that way. In fact, some critics were calling her names like “old plastic granny” and “platypus”, one man, even had the audacity to say, “Another single mother! She looks…60 years old grandma!” Be careful internet, your misogyny and ageism are showing.
Let me interject something, as a 50 year old woman who walks a 5K everyday rain or shine, sweltering heat or cold 40 degree mornings, without makeup, in a baseball cap, we are not doing any of it for you. Not for any of you. In fact, we give no shits about what you think we look like or think. We’re doing it for us. We are doing it for our children. We are doing it for the people we love and who love us. We give no fucks what 50 something Joe Single, who probably lives in his mama’s basement, thinks. Keep your opinions to yourself. Better yet, just shut all the way the fuck up.
Why does society think it has the right to comment on women’s looks? I don’t know Jennifer Garner’s “why” but I know mine. I am 50 years-old. I am newly peri menopausal and on some days it feels like my body is foreign to me. I physically and mentally look and feel differently than I did when I was younger. I have different priorities and a different perspective. That doesn’t mean I am less than, it means that I need to do what works for my new state of being. I’m diabetic. I have children and a husband who I adore and choose to revolve my life around because that is what I signed up for. I don’t regret it or begrudge it but, on some days, it can be really fucking hard and I’m human. Jennifer Garner is human and as much as we try to ignore hurtful comments, we’re human. Even if your opinion doesn’t matter, it hurts our feelings.
Do you know how hard it is to carve out 30 minutes to an hour a day to exercise? It feels like a luxury. It’s not. It is maintenance to stay alive. Some men spend hours a day at the gym trying to get shredded and no one is talking shit about them spending too much time away from their family or looking like a ball sack while sweating their asses off and making their taking a shit faces. No, they are commended. But let a mom, who already feels guilty for doing anything for herself, alone, even in the name of her health and everyone and their mom’s got to weigh in. Fuck them.
I walk for my health and sanity. I walk for Vitamin D, for my ADHD, for an hour to clear my mind and focus, honestly, on some days, for the health and safety of my family. I want to live to be a really old lady, one who might actually look like a platypus at 103 and you better believe that I will proudly be walking my 5K and looking like a drowned rat because this is for me and the people I love, not some random assholes who have nothing better than to do than criticize a woman doing what they aren’t capable of doing.
Getting older is hard for everyone. Nobody relishes the thought of feeling old, irrelevant or forgotten. Even though in this case, feeling forgotten would be the kinder option. Absolutely no one is excited about looking older. We all struggle. It takes time to acclimate and get used to our new state of being on a good day, without anyone pointing it out.
Society encourages us to grow old gracefully. We try. But that same society either treats us like we are invisible or offensive for simply trying to exist in a society not meant for us. Something I’ve realized as I age, I always feel 25 years old and, some days, I feel 18 and, then, there are the days when my knees feel 87. But on every single one of those days, I am worthy of existing. Aging does not mean that you are useless or have nothing left to contribute. We still have feelings and we are conscious of being pushed out and away. Everyone does. No one likes those feelings, not when we’re teenagers and we like them even less as adults. When I think of how our parents and grandparents must have felt, or feel, watching a world and society progress, while intentionally and aggressively telling them to stay put; treating them like they have nothing of worth to offer, it breaks my heart.
All this to say, it would have been absolutely weirder if Jennifer Garner would have been seen out running in the rain with a face full of makeup. Then the critics would have said she is trying too hard to hold on to her youth. See, you can’t win for losing in other people’s eyes so just be yourself, do you boo and be happy. Fuck the haters. They will never have what she has and not achieve what she’s achieved.
The only person any of us are accountable to is ourselves and the only people we owe any care to what they think is those people we love, and even then, it really boils down to what we think about ourselves. Love yourselves like your mama loved you. Run in the rain. Dance like no one’s watching. Speak your truth. The only person you need to care about what they think about you is YOU. Don’t let other people, smaller people than you, people who don’t matter tell you how to live your life. In a world of plastic and filters in a curated existence of perfection that doesn’t really exist, strive to be a real, good human. You are beautiful and you matter; you always have and you always will.
2023/09/06