I used to neglect my own wardrobe completely. My bras had holes in them, and my underwear was so worn it could easily be mistaken for something a first grader would wear. My closet was filled with high-end pieces that were relics from the days of dial-up internet, and I had a collection of clothes that I hadn’t worn in years—some from stores where you might also find items like neon relish and anti-fungal cream. Gradually, I found myself dressing like I had just raided a late 90’s thrift store combined with clothes that had survived a food fight.
As my kids grew, I channeled all my shopping energy into their wardrobes. I convinced myself that if they looked good, it would reflect positively on me. “That mom may look a bit disheveled,” I thought others might say, “but look at her stylish children!”
However, last week, everything changed. My daughter’s preschool was hosting a ribbon-cutting ceremony for their new building, and parents were invited alongside faculty, board members, and local dignitaries. I had planned on making a timely appearance, but as usual, I ended up running late, only to arrive just in time to see everyone gathered at the front entrance.
Dressed in a long-sleeve red-and-orange-striped shirt, black jeans, and Converse sneakers, I felt like I belonged in the cast of a 70’s television show. Instead of joining the celebration, I sat in my car, half a block away, waiting for the event to conclude so I could leave unnoticed with my daughter.
That was my wake-up call.
The very next day, I headed to Marshall’s and treated myself to some much-needed tops and sweaters. As I passed the checkout line, I spotted displays filled with kids’ items. Suddenly, my mind went into overdrive. “Look at those cute barrettes for my daughter! And those adorable socks for my son!”
What was I thinking? I had just bought clothes for myself—couldn’t I leave the store without adding to my kids’ overflowing collection? It was frustrating enough that after Marshall’s, I would be running to multiple grocery stores to cater to their every whim. Did I really need to bring home more toys that would quickly end up lost or discarded?
Absolutely not.
As I walked away from a display of frilly headbands, I declared loudly, “I am not buying my children one more thing!” A nearby shopper nodded in agreement. “You’re right!” she said. “I was just about to buy something for my girls, but they have enough.”
In that moment, I felt a rush of empowerment, as if I had inspired her to join my quest for self-care. Perhaps a little less indulgence for my kids would help stave off any resentment about how little I do for myself. It certainly wouldn’t fill my underwear drawer with cute sets. Still, it was a step in the right direction.
I mattered. I could treat myself without guilt. And ultimately, showering my kids with stuff didn’t make me a better mother.