Yeah, So I Invented Post-its

On motherhood, ambition, and the quiet panic of being asked what you do

Note to reader: this is slightly dramatized, emotionally accurate, and best read while consuming the Romy and Michele High School Reunion soundtrack.

The other day one of my best friends from college texted me, “are you going to the reunion?”

And I just stared at my phone like… the what?

At first I thought she meant some random group dinner. Like a casual “we should all get drinks” situation. Not a reunion reunion. Because that would imply that enough time has passed for us to be the kind of people who have reunions. And I’m sorry, but mentally I’m still 19, eating cereal for dinner and making deeply questionable decisions in denim.

My entire sense of time collapsed. Because what do you mean I’m now someone who has to show up somewhere and explain who I became? I don’t even feel like I’ve fully become anything yet. I still feel like I’m mid becoming. Which, apparently, is not the energy of a reunion.

Immediately, without warning, I went full Romy and Michele. The movie literally opens with “I’m just a girl.” And my version, apparently, is: I’m just a mom.

Overnight, I developed this urgent need to become someone else. Someone wildly impressive, who didn’t just have a baby six months ago, and looks like I’ve been drinking green juice and injecting myself with peptides over the past decade.

Lose exactly 7 lbs 2 oz of that last bit of baby weight that just won’t come off. And maybe try Botox or filler or whatever Kris Jenner did to her face. Just something to suggest I’ve slept in the last year.

Because that feels like the real, unspoken rule for women. You’re allowed to age. You’re just not allowed to look like you did.

I don’t even know where that pressure comes from, but it’s everywhere.

The expectation is that you carry a child, go through something that is quite literally compared to a major physical trauma, rebuild your body while staying up all night keeping another human alive, go through a complete identity shift… and then just casually bounce back like none of it actually happened.

Like your body didn’t do anything.
Like your life didn’t change.
Like you just stepped out for a minute.

Because the second a woman looks even slightly tired, or different, or not perfectly put together, there’s this quiet, cultural reaction of… what happened?

Not like… what happened in a curious way.
More like… what happened in a “weren’t you supposed to bounce back?” kind of way.

And I keep thinking… what are we expecting here? That we just freeze at 22?

Because the alternative is what? You live life, your body changes, your face changes, and then you’re supposed to apologize for it?

And then came the outfit spiral.

Because what is the vibe here?

Do I go quiet luxury? Super chic but effortless? Or do I try to look exactly like I did in college… just with better skin?

And then I had the darkest thought of all. What am I going to say when someone asks me what I’ve been up to.

Because the honest answer is: I’m a mom.

And for some reason, my brain immediately translates that into: I’m just a mom.

Like it’s not enough… like I need to follow it up with, “but don’t worry, I’m gearing up for an IPO.”

Because from what I understand, the entire point of a reunion is to casually pretend you’re not comparing your life while absolutely comparing your life. It’s like, “oh my god hiiii how are you???” but also… are you winning?

And what does winning even mean anymore?

A promotion? A fourth kid? Matching pajama sets? Emotional stability?

Like I went to college just to be covered in spit up, cut grapes into microscopic pieces, and wipe tiny bums. Which, to be clear, is a full contact sport. And still, it feels like I need a better answer.

And then I start thinking about everyone who might be there. I remember this one girl who had a blog and never used capital letters. I thought she was so cool. I wonder what she’s doing now. if she’s still living in a lowercase world.

And then… my school’s version of the A group. Ugh. The A group. I have full fantasies of walking up to them and being like, “yeah so… I invented Post-its.” Just fully commit. No follow up.

And it’s weird too, because it’s not like we’re walking in blind anymore. We’ve all kind of kept up. Or at least we think we have.

You’ve seen the version of my life I’ve posted, and I’ve seen yours. So technically we already know each other, but also not at all. Because social media gives you just enough to feel informed and absolutely nothing real to stand on.

Like I know what your kitchen looks like but I have no idea what your life is like.

So now it’s not even just ‘what have you been up to all these years,’ it’s does the version of you in real life match the version I’ve been watching?

And underneath all of this, the outfit, the Botox I may or may not try, the fake career arc I might invent on the spot, is this quieter, more uncomfortable thing.

I know what I’ve built. I know what I’ve done. I know who I am. And still… saying “I’m a mom” doesn’t sound impressive enough. Which is insane because it’s the most demanding, consuming, identity altering thing I’ve ever done.

And I think part of the reason this even exists is because we’re living inside a contradiction no one really says out loud.

We are told, in a thousand different ways, that being present with our kids is the most important thing we can do. That these years matter. That we should slow down, soak it in, be there.

While at the same time, there’s this other voice telling us to achieve, build, scale, grow, optimize. To be impressive. To have something to show.

So you end up in this weird in between where you’re doing some of the most meaningful work of your life… and also feeling completely behind at the same time.

And instead of questioning that… we question ourselves.

Anyway.

I’m not going.

I thought about it for three days and realized… I don’t want to leave my kids for a weekend. This is where I want to be.

And maybe that’s the part no one tells you.

That this version of you… the one in the middle of it, the one building a life and raising one at the same time, the one holding everything together… isn’t behind.

She’s expanded.

She has more range, more depth, more power than she ever did before.

But if anyone asks where I was?

Yeah. So I invented Post-its.