In Defense Of Being A Basic Mom
I am a Basic Mom. I love pumpkin flavored treats, scented candles, Pinterest and snagging a good deal at Target. People use the term “Basic” scornfully and with a heavy dose of the eye-roll, but to me, being called a Basic mom is actually a really huge compliment.
Without telling stories that aren’t just mine to tell, I will say that my early childhood was less than ideal. While my parents divorced when I was seven, it was years before my biological dad was completely out of the picture and to say he was kind of emotionally abusive would be like saying Ryan Gosling is just “kind of” attractive.
I grew up envious of classmates who could go to school basketball games without fear that their father would show up high. I was jealous of the girls on Full House. They could come home from school and show off an A + assignment without getting backhanded to the ground because their handwriting wasn’t neat enough. In a time before the internet, I hid in books and movies filled with happy families and longed for a normal family of my own the way some girls dream of being a fairy princess.
After years of hard work and lots of therapy in an effort to understand that what happened to me was not my fault, I now have that boring, basic family I always dreamed of. There are still days when it shocks me to the point where I struggle to believe it’s real- that I have this life now where no one gets screamed at, nothing gets thrown or broken in a fit of rage, that no one gets hurt unless they fall down.
I get angry when people make fun of being Basic, as though drinking flavored coffee, wearing fashion scarfs, or singing Taylor Swift songs is something to be ashamed of. My typical suburban mom boots hide scars from third degree burns I did not give myself and my Alex and Ani bangle that reads “strength” might seem trite to you, but it means something to me. Being called “average”, “normal” or plain old “boring” is a privilege that I will never stop being grateful for.
I know not all Basic moms are overcompensating for a messed up childhood like I am. But they are just doing what makes them happy, and seeing as how wearing trendy sweaters and pinning whimsical tablescapes in anticipation of Thanksgiving isn’t hurting anyone, I don’t see why being basic is anything to be ashamed about.
In the end, I know that haters are gonna hate,hate,hate,hate,hate, and I can’t do anything about it, so fine. I’m thrilled to be a Basic Mom. I’ll just sit here in my Momcore, shaking it off and sipping my pumpkin spiced latte.