Warning: this is a rant 💁‍♀️

So apparently I look too put together to be a mom, especially a new mom. I get comments like, Wow, you must have a lot of time on your hands, because I get up, get dressed, do my makeup and smile 60% of days.

The first time I got one of these comments was 38 days postpartum when I walked into my doctor’s office and my female gyno looked at my somewhat made up face and said, Look at you dressed up and wearing makeup! I don’t even have time for that. As if I didn’t have a newborn at home (a home that I had just moved back into after hurricane Irma). As if I was supposed to look like I had been hit by a hurricane too. As if I wasn’t supposed to be happy or making an attempt at being the old me.

Little did she know what was going on inside me. How I was dealing with losing my identity completely, with being tied down, with not responding to my son how I thought a normal mother would. When I told her, she was in shock. But her damage had been done. How many other women was she making feel this way with a simple comment?

I was doing my best. And still, it wasn’t good enough. It was as if I had to look like what I was feeling. Something I wasn’t very used to doing. See, I come from a family of vain women. My grandmother dressed up to the nines daily to sit at home and welcome the occasional visitor with a cup of coffee. My mother (a mother of 4, 3 of us back to back) and eldest sister (a mother of 3, each 18 months apart) also rarely let down their fabulous guards—it just isn’t something we do. Granted, it is an added task to an already hectic lifestyle, but it is who we are. Even when I’m sick, I’ll plop on some lipgloss and a cute headband to visit the doctor. In fact, I’m a firm believer that my attitude affects the way I feel… sort of a dress for the job you want motto. And it helps. A lot. But for some reason, it doesn’t make people happy.

I guess misery loves company?

The funny thing is that I was miserable. I was having postpartum blues and even worse postpartum anxiety. Luckily, I suffer from anxiety regularly, so I am able to have thorough chats with myself (and my husband who is forever patient with me) that help me work through it. But I had months of no sleep, of fearing night time, of fearing I was depressed—I was convinced that I was losing my mind. Some days are still bad, but I work through it. I confide in those close to me, and I have sought medical assistance when necessary. Life overall is not easy for anyone. And no one should assume that what someone looks like on the outside is an indicator of how they feel.

Still, I get these snarky remarks every now and then. And they have grown since I have decided to take a shot at modeling. Yes, you heard correctly. One of the outlets I have used to help me cope with my changing life is through learning to accept my body as it is at the moment. Aside from my lack of freedom, my changing body was one of the things that caused me anxiety after the baby. So I chose to fight against it by taking a shot at plus size modeling (something I have always been interested in). I’m only starting my journey, but I already feel significantly better. I have become more confident, and I have something to put my mind to: growing my social media and working on my fashion sense. Since I have started to dress up more often (and even scored a collaboration), I feel more secure in the skin I’m in. I even wrote an article about it. It’s seems silly, but it is something that makes me happy. It gives me an initiative to try to look my best and to do activities when before I felt like plopping myself on a bed (in my pjs) all day and not going anywhere, which is NOTHING like me. I slowly feel like the old me is coming back, and I’m proud of that.

So when someone makes a remark about my appearance, it’s annoying. Going back to my original point: what is a mom supposed to look like? Are we supposed to look like we just got out of bed all the time? Like we are tired of running after our kids? Why can’t we be glamorous even if we aren’t super stars? I believe we can. And don’t misunderstand me… on most days, I look like the 💩 emoji (like poop but still kinda cute)…for heaven’s sake, I went to my dentist appointment today in my pjs (don’t judge me, I had a rough night). But the days that I do get up and decide that I want to look fabulous, I should be getting You go girl! remarks, not any other kind. Because that’s what we are here for: to build each other up… and if I decide that for me that means to dress up and do my hair and makeup, then I should be able to.

Moral of the story: you do you, boo!