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My Crazy Years Shaped Me Into a Better Mom
I have vivid flashbacks of that infamous night. Picture this: I tumbled off a school bus and ended up in a bar. (Yes, this girl went all out on a boozy yellow beer bus tour and decided more drinks were a great idea!) Wings, fries, and a slew of beers later, I was probably spouting nonsense and flashing my assets more times than I can count—because that was just my style back then. Next thing I knew, I squeezed into a friend’s car and headed to a strip club to celebrate my birthday.
At 26, my wild antics had no limits.
It was at Philadelphia’s top gentleman’s club where the chaos truly began. Somewhere between 10 p.m. and 2 a.m., everything fell apart. Whether it was the rum shots, the red-headed sluts, or the private dance I had, I found myself sobbing in the bathroom about how I was a terrible person and an even worse future mom. Before I knew it, I had no less than four strippers by my side, offering comfort in various states of attire. Yes, they were giving me pep talks while I sat on the toilet. (Go ahead, laugh. I’ll wait.)
Despite the absurdity of the situation, I learned something profound: “bad” is a relative term. When it comes to parenting, “bad” is often just a label we throw around. Sure, there are genuinely bad people and parents out there, but most who call themselves “bad” are simply flawed, made mistakes, or want to improve. I was one of those parents-in-training, panicking about my future capabilities.
To clarify, this meltdown happened four years before I became a mom. But that night, I was already convinced I would be a “bad mom” and even hesitated to embrace motherhood because I thought I was too broken. I was swimming in $60,000 worth of student debt, stuck in a toxic relationship with an alcoholic, and battling my own mental health demons, including anxiety and depression.
However, those incredible women—bless their hearts—helped me flip my perspective. They showed me that my struggles could be strengths. One woman, rocking a black bralette and matching thong, reframed my debt as a source of perspective. She assured me my financial woes would teach my future kids the value of money and hard work—because she was dancing her way through college to provide for her own child.
Another woman, whose face escapes me, reminded me that my relationship, while rocky, required immense strength and courage to face the truth. And yet another woman told me that my mental health challenges wouldn’t hinder my parenting; instead, they would make me a more compassionate and understanding mom.
What struck me most wasn’t just their words but their tenacity, grit, and resilience. Many people think of strippers as weak or as those who come from troubled backgrounds. But the women I encountered were articulate, driven, and empowered. They were students, mothers, and daughters, each with a story and strength that left a lasting impression.
Today, I wish I could remember every piece of advice they offered, but the essence of that night changed my life. Their encouragement helped me shed my fears about motherhood and opened my heart to the idea of becoming a mom. Sure, I didn’t immediately quit my reckless ways; I made questionable decisions for the next few years. But those experiences became my training ground. My wild years shaped me into the mom I am today.
So, here’s the takeaway: my wild years didn’t diminish my potential; they enriched it. They equipped me with lessons that I carry into my parenting journey.
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In summary, my wild years taught me invaluable lessons about resilience, strength, and the true meaning of being a parent. They prepared me for the challenges and joys of motherhood, transforming my past into a foundation for a brighter future.