To Hell with Being the “Martha Stewart Mom”

I married my husband at 21 years old. I walked into instantly being a mom to a 9-year-old girl and 12-year-old boy. Looking back, I can’t believe how easy I thought it would all be. Jokes on me!  I had my first son at 24, and my second – and last – child by 27.

Growing up in Alabama is a little like the movies. I’m going to stereotype for a minute. And I apologize for that, BUT it’s the way I saw it and it was my reality. Not everyone is one way, and I understand that, so bear with me for a second. It’s my memories and the reality that I carried.

Here it goes: If you’re a woman in the South you marry your high school sweetheart, and the moms stay at home with the kids and handle all the stuff. I mean ALL THE STUFF. Cooking, cleaning, getting the kids ready for school, off to church, off to softball or football practice. They were team moms, the carpool moms, the PTA moms, the cool moms not telling your dad how much trouble you got in that weekend. The DO-IT-ALL moms. My mom was nothing short of amazing. When I describe her, I tell people it was like living with Martha Stewart. Our house was always spotless. Homemade dinners every night.

My mom was up, dressed with a full face of makeup before we ever even thought about opening our eyes. I think I saw her sick maybe twice. Holidays were always big and fun. Easter, Valentine’s , birthdays, Christmas, they were always planned out and picture perfect, like something you’d see out of a magazine. For example: Christmas Eve (by far my favorite) we always had a house full of people. We’re Italian so the food was unreal. Three different pasta sauces, a table full of antipasto, like nine different cheeses, nine different meats, seven fishes. Who needs nine different cheeses, nine different meats, and seven different fishes?! Apparently we do. Another table FULL of cookies and treats my mom baked for three days prior to Christmas Eve and also made trays to give to all our friends and family, wrapped with fancy plastic and ribbon. Martha-freakin-Stewart ladies and gentleman. The reality now, as a mom myself is: my mom looked like she had it all together, but as an adult I now understand that she probably lost her shit a couple times a week behind closed doors, and she probably didn’t have it all together like I thought she did. In some capacity, she probably felt like she failed us from time to time. But the good news for her is I never saw any of that, and it’s not what I remember.

Let’s keep flashing back: When you were a kid, what did you want to be? A firefighter? A cop? A hairstylist? A lawyer? There were a couple of times that I thought maybe being an architect, writer, or even an interior designer would be awesome. Let me tell you how that played out: to be an architect you need to do math. So that’s a BIG nope. I would rather admire and take pictures of the architecture. Interior designer: you have to listen and do what someone else likes even if you don’t. Yeah, I just like to do what I like. Sue me. Outside of those two things, if you asked me what I wanted to be, I’d tell you I wanted to be a mom. Plain and simple. Why wouldn’t I want to be? They were the backbone that made everything function. They were strong. They were the boss. Moms ran the world. They had it all together and were basically Martha-Freakin-Stewart.

Let’s Flash Forward: I’m 24, I have three kids. And I am DROWNING. I am failing at being a mom. How could I be? It was the only thing I ever really wanted to be, man did I SUCK at it. Dinner on the table? If you’re lucky. Up, dressed, with makeup on before everyone else, not even in your dreams let alone mine. Now, I ended up having postpartum depression after my first child was born, and I had no idea. I just didn’t know. I thought all the emotions I had were because I was 3,000 miles away from my family and I missed them. But looking back, I can see that all the feelings and darkness was way more than just missing family. Everything was intensified times 1,000. Sitting in the living room not wanting to put your baby down in his crib and crying almost all day isn’t normal.  I never got help and thankfully just learned to manage and push through it all. I’m working on hurts and wounds from five years ago today. But as a little side note: if you are not yourself after pregnancy, make sure to speak out and let your doctor know. Working on it five years from now IS NOT fun and probably more work than it would have been then. I just really wish I would have known, but let’s keep moving on.

Keep Flashing Forward Two More Years: I’m 27, having my last child. I had learned to manage and function past the post-partum the first time, and luckily, I didn’t really get it with my last child. One difference between me and my mom is that I have a full-time job along with being a mom. I ended up finding a company that I love, and I legitimately love the work that I do. Is it hard at times? Sure. But I was never built to be the stay-at-home mom. I would slip into a darkness that no one would want to be in. I am almost certain of that. But growing up the way that I did made me feel like a bad mom. I could only identify as Mom. Not wife, not friend, not daughter, not Alisha. Mom’s my name and changing dirty diapers and making dinner is my game. My marriage and life took a hit in a big way. It’s taken me four years to identify where the issue was and begin the work to fix it. Why couldn’t I do it all? I felt guilty for wanting to have a life outside of my children. And this is where you will find me now, trying to balance being a mom, wife, and my own person.

Flash Forward One More Year: I’m now 28. I couldn’t work with both boys at home; my 20 hours a week job turned into 40. So we hired a part-time nanny and she came into my life like a whirlwind. A free-spirited dreamer and carefree. Everything that I’m not. She loved my boys as much as I did and she quickly became my friend. When someone is in your house almost every day it’s hard for you to hide who you really are from them. They aren’t seeing you all dolled up with makeup and cute clothes with that fake smile on your face, impatiently waiting to get home so you can hermit yourself. But the REAL YOU. They’re seeing the realness of who you are. She may or may not know at the time where I was in life. I feel like I oozed depression and self-hate, but I honestly believe she was a little oblivious to those things. She came bouncing in every morning with a smile and loving life. She was someone who was chasing her dreams and grabbing life by the…. You know what.  She was just who she was. She believed in me. She pushed me to get back into fitness and all so subtly pushes me to take risks, and now here I am.

Being Supermom, aka the Martha Stewart mom, is fine. If it works for you and you’re happy with life, there is no shame in that. I wasn’t happy with life. I was dying inside. I didn’t laugh anymore. I didn’t have fun anymore. I had fun with my kids but that was the only fun I knew. I lost who I was. I used to think I didn’t have a choice, my kids are my life and that’s the end of the story. The truth is, I’m hurting them by not following my dreams and my passions.  They are my life, but there are so many more facets to life that need to be lived. I wouldn’t want them to grow up and only just be a dad or just be a mom. I want them to fully embrace life and all it has to offer.

So, here you’ll find me, recently turned 29. [Since writing this I’m now 31] Starting a new journey… As a writer, a yogi in training, recipe-making hot mess. Working on finding the balance. Learning how to be Supermom in some capacity  and at the same time learning to relax and enjoy this life. Learning to be a better wife, friend, daughter, and a better me.

This was originally published 12/10/2016. I am now 33. No longer a recipe blogger and continuing on my journey. I didn't want to change the original post because it's important to see where I have come from. Even reading this I've come so far from THIS version of myself and I'm proud. In the midst of saying I couldn't do it all I still was trying because I didn't really believe that I was worthy of love just as I was. So here's to more growth.