Why Does Calling Myself "Mom" Give Me the Ick?

On desperately trying not to disappear into motherhood and using coolness to avoid it

I love being my daughter's mother. I hate being called "mom." This distinction makes perfect sense to me and sounds absolutely unhinged to everyone else.

Now, I love when my daughter says it. That's different, that's hers to give. But when another parent at the playground says "Oh, you're Peyton’s mom!” - something in me recoils. It’s not about being a mom it’s about what the word mom represents and means.

IDK maybe I have mommy issues? (Don't we all, in some way?)

When I started this Substack, I told myself it was an ode to my past fence-sitting self. And it is. But if I'm being brutally honest, I think part of my intense need to hold onto that identity—the woman who wasn't sure she wanted kids—is because the word "mom" gave me the ick long before I became one.

Maybe I should have seen this coming… the word 'mom' started feeling like erasure the moment I got pregnant and stopped being a person.

I've never felt more objectified or less important than when I was pregnant. Everything was about how I looked, how the baby looked. Is she big enough? Are you gaining enough weight? Don't gain too much weight!

For someone in eating disorder recovery, it felt particularly cruel. I'd spent years learning how to STOP objectifying my body, learning that my body was the least interesting thing about me. Then I got pregnant and suddenly it was the ONLY thing that mattered about me. I was reduced to just a body growing a baby. A vessel. A walking incubator whose thoughts, feelings, and personhood seemed to evaporate in the face of my biological function.

I coped by pretending I wasn’t pregnant. I hid under baggy clothes. Nobody besides my husband (and medical staff) touched my belly. (As I type this I’m realizing I also still hate the word belly for some reason? I digress.) I called the “baby” a “fetus” until the 20 week anatomy scan (much to my parents’ confusion). I didn’t have a baby shower, or a maternity photoshoot. There is literally only ONE picture of me where you can tell I’m pregnant and it was taken in the hospital right before I was induced. I told my husband… I guess we need a photo for proof when she one day accuses us of adopting her.

During pregnancy, nurses would coo "You got this, mama!" and I'd have to physically restrain myself from snapping back. There's something particularly unsettling about watching yourself become a category rather than a person. Suddenly, you're not Amanda who happens to have a child. You're "mom," a generic label that seems to eclipse everything else you've ever been or done.

my only proof of pregnancy photo

In early postpartum, I made it my mission to prove I was different. When my daughter was two weeks old, my husband and I went on a date. Look at us, not letting parenthood envelope us! I returned to work after six weeks. I attended every wedding and bachelorette party I was invited to before her first birthday. I flew across the country alone to see Taylor Swift. ( I also regret none of these things btw).

After nine months of being essentially incapacitated by pregnancy, I was desperate to reclaim my life. But if I'm honest, I was also desperate to prove I wasn't like those other moms I'd been so judgmental of. I was different. Special. Unchanged.

Because the truth is, I was really judgmental of certain mothers before I became one. The ones whose Instagram bio reads "Johnny's mom" with nothing else. Their profile picture is just their kid's face, as though they themselves have ceased to exist. Every post is about their child's milestones, their child's breakfast, their child's everything.

"Another one bites the dust," I'd think when I saw women leave careers to stay home. The irony isn't lost on me—people probably thought the exact same thing when I, the perpetual fence sitter, announced I was pregnant. Another woman succumbing to traditional pressures. Another person they could no longer relate to.

But I only had one child, I remind myself eagerly. I'm still here. I'm different. I’m not a regular mom… I’m a one and done mom. I’m a cool mom because I don’t fully embrace being a mom.

While pregnancy felt wrong, horribly unnatural and frankly traumatizing to me, becoming her mother didn't. Despite our rocky start (general anesthesia, emergency delivery, NICU before I could even see her), once I brought her home, the bond was intense and immediate. Being her mother felt as natural as being a friend, a sister, a daughter. It was instantly part of who I was, woven into my identity without question.

But I still struggle with the word. Until recently, even when my parents would say to my daughter, "There's mommy!" I'd feel slightly queasy. When other adults called me "mom," it felt like they were putting me in a box I hadn't chosen, even though I was actively, willingly, amd very happily(!!) living the reality of motherhood every single day.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I felt this way until I read a recent post from

Sara Petersen

which is absolutely worth a read. She writes about how the desire to be a "cool mom" is really about not wanting to be disappeared by the identity of motherhood.

That's exactly what I think I was doing in early postpartum… performing "cool mom" as a way to signal (to others? to myself?) that I haven't been swallowed whole by motherhood. That I still have other identities, other thoughts, that I haven't lost myself like those other moms I've been so judgmental of.

As Petersen puts it: "As a first-time mom, my desire to be cool became a desire to not be disappeared by the identity of Mother. Which I understand! I empathize with my baby mom self, but I no longer feel personally wounded when a pediatrician calls me mom or when I feel compelled to introduce myself to another parent as so-and-so's mom. Yes, it's annoying. But no, it isn't fundamentally impacting my sense of self. At the risk of sounding too cool, who cares if people see me as a mom! I fucking am!"

Reading that made me realize: I've been so busy trying to prove I'm not JUST a mom that I've exhausted myself with the performance. Being a mom isn't cool. It never was. And maybe that's... fine?

So here I am. A fence sitter who jumped but kept one foot hovering over the old side. A mother who loves mothering but cringes at mommy culture. A woman who spent nine months hiding her pregnancy and almost two years trying to hide from a three-letter word. I'm exhausted by my own contradictions. But when my daughter calls for me 'Mama!' or 'Mommy!' it’s my favorite thing to hear. And maybe that’s all that matters.

PS- Due to popular demand I am working on bringing back our monthly Fence Sitter support group. We currently have people interested in meeting Monday 7/14 or Tuesday 7/15 at 7pm EST. Let me know if those work for you or if you need a weekend or other options and I can try to work some things out!

Let me know below, or send me a DM! This would be for paid subscribers only!