Did you know Louis C.K. has kids?

He does, two small daughters, Mary Lou and Kitty.

Why is that an issue, you ask?

Oh, it’s not.

He’s a brilliant comedian to whom I would give any amount of money to crawl inside his head for ten whole minutes and laze about on all his squishy brain parts, just to soak in every ounce of his mind.

His act is cynical and crude and creative, sometimes he talks about being a parent, the same way he makes dick jokes or waxes poetic about necrophilia or masturbation. And I laugh because he’s hilarious. His stand up shows are mind blowing. His tv show is genius.

I’m not writing all this to make you love Louis C.K.

In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t, because it’s more special when I’m the only one with his name tattooed across my perineum.

It’s been one year since I gave my TED talk. Since then, my life is almost unrecognizable.

The voice I’ve found, the way I feel in my skin, the women I have met… I can’t entirely articulate this sense of whole-ness and completeness that I am honored to walk around with each day. It’s effected every part of me. I’m a better mother, because I’m learning to be the woman I want my daughter to be. I’m a better wife, because I’ve learned to value myself in a way that feels ungodly sexy. I’m a better in business because I have a sense of purpose, goals I’m driven to achieve that once seemed bigger than myself. I’m a better writer because I’m more confident in my ability to push boundaries, dance across lines of acceptance and remove my need for comfort and security.

But, despite all that, in the furthest part of my head, back behind the old diaries and Hanson posters, lies a box filled with three hats. My mom hat, my advocate hat and my humorist hat. I want to wear all three hats, and most days I do, happily. (This is a metaphor, my head is a weird shape and hats look ridiculous on me.)

I love being a mom, it’s life changing. I love women, all shapes, all sizes, almost nothing turns me on more than working for them and along side them. I love writing about anal sex, vomit, masturbation, marriage, sex, humiliation, mental illness, parenting struggles, my body, and my mistakes on the internet.

To me, these things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Every once and a while, I get comments or emails that say things like:

You’re somebody’s mother.

What kind of example are you setting?

How can you advocate for women when you say something so crude and offensive? Or when you lose or gain weight?

What if your kids read this someday?

Stop it.

I think it’s important to say things out loud. They might be good things. They might be bad things. But, they’re my things, I don’t want to be bullied or guilted into not saying them, because if nobody says them, the conversation stops and I’m back in that box having to pick only one hat to wear.

That’s not evolution to me.

I’m a thirty-one year old woman, I wear a size sixteen, I share my life irreverently and unapologetically on the internet, I want women to feel confident and beautiful in their own skin, oh, and I’m a mother of three.

Why is that an issue?

Oh, it’s not.


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