When my older two girls were younger, I used to care how they dressed. I’ve written about this before in greater detail when I used to have battle royales with Scarlett and Gianna. They attempted numerous times to leave the house looking like they were modeling homeless couture. Seriously dude. That shirt has like 35 different food stains on it. Can’t we choose something that doesn’t look like we found it on the side of the road?! Or when they insisted on wearing a dress to school they just had on 2 days ago. People would think that was all the clothes they had, despite the full drawers that spewed over with girl’s size 5. Come on chick. You can’t wear the same thing in the SAME WEEK! People might think we are poor.
The amount of frustration, tears, and gray hairs that was experienced over clothing was borderline traumatic.
Years ago, I learned to stop battling them. Motherhood beat me like a dead horse, and I realized back then that I couldn’t always get my way with my kids AND keep my sanity. I learned to pick my battles. I let go of the clothing control and made peace with the fact that my kids were going to choose what they wanted.
Finally Questioning Why
The other day, as I was watching my 4-year-old play at the park, clothed in pants heavily stained at the knees and a shirt that did not match, I wondered to myself for the first time in my life….”why did this use to bother me so much?” What inside me made me care so deeply about what fabric they decided to yank over their bodies for the day. It’s just clothing.” As I pondered this question for a few moments, I came across the answer in my subconscious. It popped up in my mind and once I saw it, I knew it was true.
I used to care so much about what my kids wore because, back then, I saw them as an extension of me. I didn’t want my kids to leave the house looking like a hot mess because I felt like it reflected on me. If my kids looked unkept or homeless, then people would think I was unkept or homeless. Subconsciously I used to see my kids as a reflection of who I was and what people thought of me used to matter. I sought out approval, inclusion, and admiration. I wanted to be liked. I wanted to be seen as successful and put together.
Me Now
But now, I’m older. I’m a bit wiser. And I simply don’t care what people think. I realized that clothing is just clothing. More importantly, I realized who I am. Like Moana shouting to the ocean, I AM KRIS-TI-NA.
I didn’t come to this self-realization overnight. It came with time. Through personal reflection and therapy thanks to this blog. Through doing the work on myself. And while there are plenty of health risks and downsides that come with having children later in life, I truly believe it is actually a big gift to pop out kids in right before you hit mid-life crisis mode. You’re a different kind of parent in your late 30s and 40s than you are in your 20s. More grounded. More patient. A little less consumed with how the world sees you. And I honestly think our kids benefit from that version of us. Not that my older two girls got shafted because I was in my 20s when I had them. I was still a good mom…but I don’t think I was as good as I am now.
And now that I know who I am, I know that my kids are not an extension of me. They are their own separate people, with their own thoughts, opinions, dreams, and goals. I am connected to them, yes. It is my job as their mom to guide and support them, yes. And how I am trying to raise them is a reflection of me. But ultimately, who they are is up to them. We are not the same people, and I can’t control them. It’s not my job as their mom either. My job is to guide them. To show them what I think matters.
If my kid wakes up and wants to wear polka dots with stripes, a shirt that has 3 holes in it, or the same pair of pants 3 days in a row – who really cares? If that combination feels good and makes you want to tackle that day on, go for it girl. And, if for some reason, someone sees them and thinks “woah, that kid must be really poor to be leaving the house looking like that,” why should that thought matter? It’s not like we can hear that person’s thoughts anyways. Truth is, most people are wrapped up in their own business. Most thoughts are about themselves and not me or my kids’ clothing choices.
But even if someone thinks we are poor, blind, slovenly creatures based on our outfit selections – it doesn’t matter to me anymore. If someone does actually think that they likely have never been in the position to dress a feral child with strong opinions. They have not been beaten down by parenting yet.
And….ultimately, I simply don’t give a shit that they feel that way.
My kids can dress how they want – as long as it makes them happy. Their ability to wake up and have control over their body and be pleased with their reflection is what matters. I’m totally okay with their choices.
Shut Up Old Me
Although the old me does still try to convince the current me to care. When Evie chooses the stained shirt, the mismatched pieces, or when Scarlett wears the same grey sweatshirt twice in one week- the old me sometimes comes out, tapping me lightly on the shoulder, and tries to whisper thoughts of insecurity. “What will people think of YOU, Kris? They will think you are poor. They will think you are less than. You shouldn’t let your kids go out public like this.”
When those whispers happen, I have to silence them and tell myself that 1) my kids are not me, 2) how my kids dress is their choice, and 3) what other people think doesn’t matter.
My kids might leave the house looking like they let a raccoon style them, but that no longer sets me off. Because I’ve grown. I’ve let go of the idea that their outward appearance is a reflection of my worth.
What Matters
What matters is that my kids grow up confident. That they become adults that don’t find self-worth through other’s opinions. Who aren’t constantly chasing approval but instead look inward to figure out who they are.
And that’s one of the unexpected perks of having kids later in life. Sure, your knees crack when you bend down to play and you might blow out your back and piss your pants thanks to a hefty sneeze, but older parents get to show up with a whole lot more self-awareness than you would have in your twenties. You parent differently. You pick your battles. And in doing so, you give your kids something better than perfect outfits. You give them room to be themselves.
Because in the end, that’s what I really want for them. Confidence. Autonomy. A strong sense of self that isn’t tied to what other people think. And if mismatched outfits and red dye 40 stained sweatshirts are part of that journey? So be it.
Like I said in my post, I was prompted to write this after watching Evie play at the playground – looking like a fresh hot mess express. I saw how ridiculous she looked and wondered to myself why I used to care so much what clothes my kids left the house in. Why I wasted so much energy on their appearance when there were bigger fish to fry. And that’s when my subconscious smacked me in the head with a frying pan (a la Rapunzel) and announced to me that it was because I was self-absorbed back in my 20s/30s when I fought with Gianna and Scarlett. I’ve since done a bit of growing up and maturing.
Also, fun fact about the line I wrote about not wearing something that looked like we found it on the side of the road. I actually have 2 shirts in my possession that I currently still wear that I actually found on the side of the road. I’m not proud…. but seriously. They were nice shirts. Just chilling on the road. Finders’ keepers.
And can we all just acknowledge the Disney princess references here?! There are 3 in total. Two are obvious, one is slightly hidden. I love throwing in my Disney references, as you may know. I have so many posts that do this. Though Disney has been disappointing me lately.
They need to do some self-reflection and find out who they are.