Chani Nicholas, astrologer and generally rad queer chick, just sent me my entire year horoscope and I am feeling pretty jazzed about it.
The statement that stood out for me was about personal rebellion - specifically that the first months of this year will end a long journey of personal rebellion.
And I thought, hells yeah! My bumbling through the last three and a half years of being a mother has been a personal rebellion - a rebellion again motherhood and perfect womanhood and all the bullshit that ties women off at the hands and knees and then makes them beg for acceptance.
The irony is not lost on me that my rebellion , as a personal journey, emerged as an identity crisis based on my new role as a mother. It is ironic because I never thought I would be a mother and yet, I went into it with the same kind of adventurous spirit I have many other things in life - I just fucking DID IT.
And then I was like, what the fuck is this bullshit life all about? Making daily decisions about the life of a six pound flesh ball while leaking at my breasts, eyes, and vagina. FUUUUUUUUUCK. No thanks.
But it wasn’t just the infant stage that was paralyzing - it all is. Mothers who get the endorphin rush when their infant farts and their baby sleeps are seriously amazeballs lucky. Moms with postpartum depression and anxiety are too busy worried if they will ever live another day of joy or go outside ever again.
It’s three years in and I am still awash with a mixture of nausea and jealousy when people say that they just LOVE this stage or that. And although I like to hold newborns, I feel my cervix pulling up the drawbridge and letting the crocodiles into the moat.
No. I don’t want another kid. No, I don’t love it all of the time, or really most of the time because I am busy wondering what’s happening on reruns of RuPaul’s Drag Race that I wish I was watching. And no, it isn’t all bad - it’s just mostly exhausting to have a tiny fucking human around all the time. And I’m not apologizing for that statement because it’s true and part of my PERSONAL FUCKING REBELLION.
When I’m feeling good about not fitting in with other mothers, I laud myself for my originality and my ability to carve out a mommy identity that doesn’t leave me feeling strangled and alone (that’s for Friday nights in the tub! I am just kidding, I never get to take a bath alone).
Motherhood is oppressive and I will fight anyone who disagrees. Actually I won’t because this baby weight is really holding me back. But seriously, the shit that mothers go through and the things that they are supposed to feel are just absolute bs.
If you feel them, great. If you don’t always, great. If you never do, I’ll refer you to a good counselor.
In all seriousness, I could not be more proud that my Personal Rebellion, is about fighting the norms of motherhood. Cause they suck. No one should be subject to them. Women were not put on this earth to keep a clean fucking house and look pretty and still wanna have sex even though their bellies now get in the way.
The time has come (for you to lip sync for your life!) for a Collective Rebellion against Motherhood. And I don’t mean wine jokes and how your stupid fucking husband is another kid (in which case, you are better than that, GURL). I mean a real revolution where we simply don’t take this shit any more. No restrictive expectations. No Mommy Code Rulebook. No moms should act like this or that.
Who do you want to be as a mother?
I ask myself this everyday.
And everyday a new aspect of the Rebellion is born.