I’ve been hesitant to write this post because, well, I’m worried it could be taken the wrong way. I have to trust that you’ll know it’s coming from a place of compassion because I’ve been there myself, as you can see in the photo. But we’ll get back to that later.
Years ago when we lived in Eagan, a busy Twin Cities suburb, I was in a parking lot packing kids and groceries into the car when I happened to glance up and see another woman a few cars away doing the same. She was strapping her kids into a minivan and was dressed from head to toe in sweats. Her hair was rumpled and she was overweight. But the thing that caught my attention was the miserable look on her face.
Now, she might have been up all night with a sick child or maybe she was feeling ill herself. We’ve all had to face the world on days when we would have preferred to stay home in bed. Maybe she’d received bad news that morning or her kids had been fighting in the store. Whatever it was, she looked utterly defeated.
I was fairly new to the world of motherhood at the time and after seeing this woman I remember thinking that I didn’t ever want to look like that. I went home and immediately threw out anything resembling a sweatsuit. Now, am I saying you should never wear a sweatshirt? Of course not. As a matter of fact, just the other day I read a conversation thread on another blog where the women were discussing how they would never leave the house wearing workout clothes. I say if wearing yoga pants makes it more likely you’ll get your exercise in, go for it. The folks at the grocery store can handle it.
So, no, it wasn’t what she was wearing that shook me up. Or the fact that she was driving a minivan. What stopped me in my tracks was her look of desperation, of how did I get here and whose life is this, anyway?