Becoming a Parent Made Me Not Care

I learned it’s okay to not care

Before I became a parent, I cared too much about the things that didn’t matter-mostly my appearance and what other people thought of me. I spent a lot of time and money on both of those.

When I became a parent I stopped caring. When my husband and I were building a house, for example, I just didn’t care about the things that didn’t really matter to me. I had too much on my plate with work, kids, volunteering, etc.

People would ask me, “what is your backsplash in your new kitchen going to look like” or “what is your bedroom color scheme? What style of cabinets did you choose?”

I realized that these may have been things I cared about 10 years ago but now I just didn’t have the capacity to care about such trivial things.

I don’t care about waking up at 6 am to work out. I don’t care about a number on a scale. I don’t care about being a hot mom. I don’t care that I do carpool drop-off in my PJ’s and no makeup every day.

I do care about having a playroom for my children. I do care about what school zone we are in. I do care that they are happy. I do care about summer vacations with my children, traveling to new places, getting them into the best schools possible, and making sure they have strong connections to their extended families. That is what I choose to spend my energy on now.

I had a wake-up call in 2020 when I was working a job that sounded great on paper. I was getting paid well, making my own schedule, working close to home with a short commute. Unfortunately, though, the person I was working for was an extremely unhappy person and it started to affect me, my mental health, and my quality of life. It eventually began affecting my entire family.

I took a good hard look at the pros and cons. I decided that I needed to choose my happiness over the extra money that I was earning, and I finally left. I didn’t care that we would no longer be putting money into savings and that we would have to cut back financially in many ways. I didn’t care that I would most likely never have a high-paying salary like that again.

I decided to find a part-time job from home in order to spend more time with my almost 4-year-old. I decided to focus on the current moment and my children growing up too quickly. I decided a big house and a nicer car sounded like great goals but watching Frozen or Home Alone at 10 am on a Tuesday morning while snuggling with my last baby sounded better.

( I am very aware that this is a privilege that I have. My husband selflessly works extremely hard to support us and not every household has this privilege of allowing one parent to stay home or work reduced hours.)

It felt good to me to get my priorities straight. I just didn’t care about things that didn’t really matter.

As a child, I often heard my mother say “You can’t take it with you when you go” referring to whatever toy my younger sister and I were currently fighting over. She was trying to tell us that things don’t matter; people do. When you die, you aren’t going to be able to take all the “stuff” with you.

I may not be traditionally successful or look like I spent two hours getting ready each morning. That’s because I am not, and I do not. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about society’s expectations. I don’t care what size my pants are.

Kara Dawn’s poem “Wasted Beauty” has an important truth for so many people:

“The happiest I’ve ever been When I am not worried if I am thin”

Not embracing the typical norms for women and mothers in my world has made me realize just what I do care about. And that is the most freeing feeling in the world.

This was not an easy concept for me. It seems like second nature to some people to be able to march to the beat of their own drum and not think about how others will react but it was unchartered territory for me.

As a people pleaser, I was hyperaware of people’s judgments of me, including my decisions and my appearance.

But why?

Because we are conditioned to care. Way too much. It consumes us and our energy. The $500 billion-dollar beauty industry loves to make us compare ourselves to each other and think that our appearance is important.

When my husband and I first started dating, he was the most carefree person I had ever met. I was appalled by his nonchalant attitude. “What do you mean you’re wearing that shirt to dinner tonight?” You wore it yesterday!” I was horrified that he could consider such a transgression.

I vividly remember explaining the Southern rule of not discussing religion, politics, or money outside of your tight circle a few minutes before a family gathering early in our relationship. But then I started to question why that was.

Is it rude to have a different opinion? Why are we so worried that we won’t agree with everyone?

It took me a long time to realize that religion, politics, and money are some of the most interesting topics to discuss, even with people I know I won’t be agreeing with. A difference of opinion is normal.

Three days before I had my first child, I saw a meme on Instagram that spoke to me. It is now a motto that I always carry with me. It read “I used to walk into a room full of people and wonder if they liked me….now I look around and wonder if I like them.”

Some things matter, and some don’t. Time is fleeting, and I want to use it all to learn about my child’s current favorite animal, what kind of fruit they want in their pancakes, and what park we are going to explore next. I am not worried about the outfit I am going to wear that day or how my hair looks.

Becoming a parent made me not care about the things that don’t really matter and it’s an unbelievable feeling.

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