For the past few years, my husband has bought me sarcastic t-shirts. I have one that says, “Ew, People.” Another reads, “B*tch, I will put you in a trunk and pretend to look for you. Stop playing with me.” And my personal favorite: “Piss me off and I’ll slap you so hard even Google won’t be able to find you.”
I love these shirts. They each reflect some part of my personality. They make me laugh—and honestly, sometimes they act as a warning to the people around me. (You’re welcome, public.). For the record, my T-shirts are all sarcasm — I’m much more likely to laugh than to lash out.
Despite what the shirts might suggest, I’m not an angry or violent person.
I’m just someone who usually doesn’t care what people think.
And yet, that attitude often gets me labeled as “unfeeling.” The truth? I’m the exact opposite. I feel everything—deeply. So deeply that I sometimes have to put time limits on my emotions.
If I’m upset or hurt, I set a timer for five minutes and cry it out. I don’t do it for any reason other than I need to work through the emotion, and crying helps. When the timer goes off, it’s back to real life. Sometimes I need a second cry (or even a third), but most of the time, one good cry is enough to release whatever’s been weighing on me.
People often tell me they wish they were more like me—not caring what others think. But what they don’t realize is that it’s not always easy. Sometimes, it’s actually exhausting. I’m not talking about the people who truly know me; they know how much I care. I’m talking about acquaintances, community members, or even extended family who make comments without realizing how hurtful they can be. Their version of me—the unfeeling one—isn’t real. It’s just their perception.
Because I don’t care what others think, I tend to do my own thing. If a group goes right, I usually go left. That’s true in most areas of my life… including parenting.
When my daughter Mae was in elementary school, I realized I was several years younger than most of the other parents. That never bothered me—but it sure bothered them. They often acted like my age made me too inexperienced to know what I was doing.
Here’s the thing—if we both have seven-year-olds, we probably have a similar amount of parenting experience. But the moment someone tries to tell me why their way is better? Congratulations—you’ve just guaranteed I’ll do the opposite. Nothing makes me dig in faster than being told what to do—especially when there’s nothing wrong with my way.
Case in point: when Mae was in sixth grade, all the girls started shaving their legs. Mae asked if she could, and I said sure. I took her to the store, bought her a razor and shaving cream, gave her the “dos and don’ts,” and let her handle it.
A few days later, a few neighborhood moms told me I should be shaving her legs for her. Apparently, they had done it for their daughters and felt I should do the same—because Mae shaving her own legs was somehow “unfair” to theirs.
Ummm… what? Seriously—WTF?
I’m not parenting by committee. So I laughed, said “nope,” and went on with my day. But I couldn’t help wondering—what was their cutoff age? Eighteen? Twenty-one? Was I supposed to show up at her college dorm every few weeks with a razor in hand?
That’s complete insanity.
It’s maddening to be judged as “less than” just because I don’t follow the crowd. Didn’t those moms ever hear their own mothers say, “If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you jump too?”
Obviously, for me, the answer is no. But I’m fairly certain those other moms jumped.
Ultimately, I don’t make decisions lightly, and I’m usually satisfied with the ones I make. And I know I’m glad I didn’t cave to the peer pressure (or is it mom pressure?). Mae is in her mid-twenties now and married.
So… would I still be shaving her legs? Or would I have handed the razor off to her husband? I guess I’ll never know. But I do know this: I would love to put those moms in a trunk and pretend to look for them.
If you made it this far, thank you 💜 I’m so glad you’re here—sharing in the laughs, the chaos, and the real-life moments that make us human.
If this post made you smile, nod in agreement, or think, “Wow, someone finally said it,” please like, share, and subscribe. It helps this little corner of the internet grow—and reminds me that maybe, just maybe, I’m not the only mom who side-eyes the parenting committee.
And hey, I’d love to hear from you! Drop a comment below and tell me—what’s the most ridiculous bit of “parenting advice” you’ve ever gotten? Or tell me when you’ve gone against the parenting committee.
Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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