Whiskey in a Tea Cup

6413DDD3-F2FB-4ABA-92F9-0F4A5CF6723FSometimes I feel like a chameleon, that’s really bad at being a chameleon. Like I may try to turn green to blend in with a leaf but I’d probably still have bright purple feet sticking out, because I’m not really good at blending in, or fitting in. No matter how desperately I’ve tried. In fact I’m almost certain that the only label I’ve achieved through years of trying to fit in is “the weird girl”. 

In hindsight, I’ve put myself through the ringer trying to find the spot where I fit in. 

During middle school, I tried to be “scene” with blue eyeliner, and fallout boy playlists, and black clothes. Which is not very becoming for me. Let your imagination go crazy. I tried to be popular and put my parents out a pretty penny because if it wasn’t Hollister, it wasn’t good enough. Like my mother grounded me by taking away my Hollister jacket. The horror. I straightened my hair religiously and changed my part to do what the pretty girls were doing. Even though my hair is naturally straight as a board, all that heat damage for nothing.

Continuing into my teen years…..

I tried to be the “hard ass” with no feelings. But I have a tender soul from time to time.

I tried to be in with the party crowd at all costs. Yeah…. that never got me in trouble. But it was fun while it lasted.

I tried being the redneck girl that likes hunting and fishing. But Camouflage doesn’t look good on me and I like fishing better.

I tried being boho Mrs. Daisy. And I do like boho…. but not like I can summon the moon boho.

I’ve tried to be the girly girl that never leaves the house without lipstick and pearls. That lasted one minute. 

I’ve tried to be the classy one that drinks wine and fruit spritzers and always has her nails done. But wine gives me a headache and just doesn’t taste as good as beer. Yeah, I said it. 

I’ve tried to be the wild one that only does whiskey shots with no chaser and line dances like no ones watching. Okay this one might actually be me….


This is so embarrassing. I remember a few years back all my friends were wearing Rainbow flip flops and so I, of course, had to go spend $60 on these stupid flip flops that didn’t even fit my foot right and made me slide everywhere. I still wear them though because I mean $60 is $60. 

Shoes, people,shoes…

 And even now as a mom and wife I struggle with this “one or the other” mentality. 

I think I should be the crunchy mom that does everything natural and heals any and all ailments with the fruits of Mother Nature, but then I think I should be the kewl mom that has a giant tub of cheese balls on the counter as part of her decor. 

I think I should be the wife with a clean house and an iron and wear aprons and look fabulous while I’m doing it. I also think I should be the wife who shoves everything in the closet 5 minutes before anyone comes over and wears the same over sized T-shirt for 3 days. 

But I’m slowly making myself realize that in order to set a good example for my daughter, that who I really should be is whoever I want to be. 

Not who fits in, not who has a “group”, not who has every single characteristic of a specific stereotype, not who I think someone wants me to be…..

Who I want to be.

And that person is the weird girl. The one who does things a little differently. I don’t fit in, and it’s perfectly fine.

I’m whiskey in a tea cup, if you will. 

So if you ever decide you want to be in the no-group-group, give me 5 minutes notice to shove everything in a closet and open a cold beer. Don’t mind the essential oils going. And BYOCB(bring you’re own cheese balls). It may be a lipstick and apron day or it may be a messy T-shirt day. Just know that I’m doing my best being me, and you’re welcome to be you. 

2 thoughts on “Whiskey in a Tea Cup

  1. Aunt Dolores says:

    I so tried to be the perfect wife and Mom with my first child, but fertile mertle here had to have 2 sons in the same year. Yes that’s right one in January and one in December of 62. It was oversized t-shirts for 2 year’s and still my favorite attire.


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