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STOP STARING AT ME, BITCHES!


crossed eyes woman in white background

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com


“STOP STARING AT ME, BITCHES” is my mantra and maybe it will be yours too. 

I am a mom raising four children, a husband and a dog. My life can get ugly, man. I forgot to mention that my four angels have all been diagnosed with invisible special needs. ADHD, Autism, Anxiety, and Sensory Processing to name a few. Like I said, ugly, man. 

Don’t feel sorry for me though, I didn’t want to feel left out, so I also am diagnosed with ADHD (FOMO). We are a hot mess. A legit HOT MESS. I am ok with it and have learned to accept that I will not be the mom in the Lilly Pullitzer dress, pearls, beautifully straight hair, and an ass that won’t quit. Instead, I am the mom in her sweatpants that has a hole in them, unwashed hair for God knows how long, and an ass that is not what it used to be. Acceptance is the first step, right?

So, let me paint you a picture. You know that family in church that sits up front? The one where Mom and Dad are beautiful and perfect and should probably be on the cover of a J. Crew catalogue. Their children (one boy and one girl, obviously) are wearing coordinating colors of gray, white, and pink and sitting like perfect robots, (I mean, angels). So, can you picture them? OK, look behind them and to your left. See the family with the four kids who are all disheveled? One kid has Nutella all over his chin and the other one is wearing his pajamas. The mom is gritting her teeth as she is trying not to flip shit on her youngest son who is trying to take off his pants. That’s us! There we are!!

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking we are so cool because we don’t give a shit what other people think and you would totally be our best friends if we met one another. But, think again, friend. Here’s the truth: I used to care what people thought of us. I can still feel the judgy beady eyes of Ms. Lilly Pullitzer on my back. I can see the nasty looks and rolled eyes of the old people next to us. 

I know what you are doing, people. You are judging us. You would never let your kid act like that in church. You would never allow your son to wear PJs to God’s house. What kind of mother lets her child wear shorts in the winter? I hear and see it all. I used to hold my tears in until we got home, where I would cry to my husband that our children are animals and its because we are not tough enough. They don’t respect us and so they don’t listen to us. Blah, blah,blah. 

After years of caring about what these jerk offs thought of us, something changed inside of me. It could have been that I was sick of buying mascara because mine kept coming off with every tear I shed. It could have been because I am older and wiser now and have learned that the only people that matter to me are the 5 people who I live with. So, after awhile, I started to OWN my hot mess family. Screw you all, I don’t want to look perfect. Perfect is boring! So, next time you see my autistic son having a melt down at the ball field, or my anxious child fleeing the scene of the strings concert, know that this is what I am thinking: STOP STARING AT ME, BITCHES. 

I have now learned that no one knows what my life is like. Raising four children with invisible special needs is hard and if you can’t support us, then you will feel the wrath of the daggers from my eyes, imploring you to STOP STARING AT ME. 

Look, I don’t need you to come over and ask me if I need help. I am not asking you to babysit for a weekend. You know what you could do? Smile at me. Give me a nod that says, “I get you girl, it’s cool”. Is that so hard? Don’t stare at my son as he rocks himself back and forth to calm himself down. Don’t stare at me when I am dragging my kicking and screaming kid into the school building every Monday. That’s not helpful. But, maybe you could hold the door open for us please?

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