My Origin Story
I grew up in a suburban neighborhood in New Jersey, just across the bridge from Philadelphia.
My parents met at their senior prom in 1967 and got married in November of 1970. They had me three years later, and my brother 22 months after that. They’re still married.
Growing Up with Traditional Gender Roles
My parents’ relationship followed traditional gender roles, which drove me insane growing up—watching my mom do everything while my dad slept on the couch.
Let me be clear—my dad wasn’t lazy, and he wasn’t a misogynist. He slept on the couch because he worked his ass off all day long: in the heat, in the freezing cold, often seven days a week for months on end, to give us a life that I’m forever grateful for.
I don’t know how they did it. My dad, a union bricklayer, and my mom, an educational assistant at my elementary school, managed to take us to Disney World not just once, but three times. They always drove new cars, paid for our college educations, and bailed us out when we needed it. (We’re both divorced.)
My Dad Made Me a Feminist
My dad would probably disagree, but I’m a feminist because of him. He raised me not to take any shit from anyone, especially from dudes. He taught me that if a boy could do it, so could I—and probably better.
My Own Marriage
So when I woke up one day to find myself in a marriage that reeked of gender roles, you can imagine my confusion.
I always wanted to be a mom. I even wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, though I didn’t think we’d be able to afford it.
On my last day of teaching, I told my students I’d see them in six months.
(No, wait, that’s a lie. I actually said, “I’ll see you on Wednesday,” because I was going in for an external cephalic version, where they try to flip your breech baby. Long story short: mine didn’t flip, and I ended up agreeing to a C-section that day instead of waiting it out for my planned home birth.)
My baby had other plans.
Six months later, I still hadn’t slept more than an hour or two at a time. I was barely hanging on, trying to learn how to be a mom while managing a home, being a wife, stressing about money—it was a lot.
I Just Couldn’t Do It
There was no way I could nurse all night, get the baby and myself ready, help my then-husband get ready because yeah, that’s how traditional our gender roles had become, and then get out of the house and to work by 7:45 a.m., let alone teach 11-year-olds about the Roman Empire.
And let’s not forget my son wouldn’t take a bottle. He wouldn’t go to anyone but me, wasn’t calmed by anyone but me, and I was terrified of leaving him in daycare.
I was deep in postpartum anxiety but didn’t recognize it, so I just thought I was failing at motherhood.
I never went back to teaching. I cashed out my pension, gave up my health insurance, and walked away from a salary that today would be $101,000—all to stay home with my baby, who needed me and who I couldn’t leave because I knew I couldn’t manage both.
To the moms who do manage both—you’re amazing. For real, I don’t know how you do it.
Accidental Stay-at-Home Mom
There I was: an accidental stay-at-home mom in a relationship dripping with gender roles. I was full of resentment because my husband went off to the same school, teaching the same grade and subject I taught, while my job at home was way harder than his.
On top of that, while I nursed our baby to sleep every night, trapped in a dark room with no TV and no smartphone (this was 15 years ago), he was out a couple of times a week playing video games with friends.
You might think I was resentful of his freedom. But I wasn’t. I was resentful that I’d entered this parenting partnership as a team, and within weeks, I no longer had a teammate.
It wasn’t his freedom I yearned for—it was partnership.
What Went Wrong?
How did this happen? How did I allow it to happen? What went wrong? What could I have done differently? What do I wish someone had told me? What skills was I lacking? Why did I end up full of postpartum anxiety and eventually divorced, struggling to pay my bills?
This isn’t the life I imagined.
But here’s the thing—I have answers to those questions. And that’s what this blog is about.
Even though I’ll never get a do-over, you still have time.
Why I’m Sharing This
I don’t want you to be like me. I want you to stand in your power now, when it matters most for you, your baby, and your family. I want you to really know yourself, because that is the greatest gift you can give your baby.
So stick around, hear about my mistakes and fuck-ups, and learn what I’d do differently. My hope is that you can make the changes you need before it’s too late.
I want you to build the life you imagined, a life you can manage, and—dare I say it?—maybe even a life you love.
Thank you for hearing my story.
And always remember—this is temporary, you are not alone, and you will survive.
Peace, love, and solidarity,
Tiff
PS If any of this resonated with you, hit me up and let me know!
TL;DR (Too Long; Didn't Read)
Grew up with traditional gender roles at home, swore I’d never end up like that.
Dad raised me to be a feminist, yet I somehow woke up in a marriage that reeked of those same gender roles.
Postpartum anxiety wrecked me, I quit my job, lost my salary, and became a stay-at-home mom by accident.
The worst part wasn’t losing freedom—it was losing the teammate I thought I had. Suddenly, it was all on me.
I’m sharing my story so you don’t make the same mistakes. Learn from my fuckups, build a life you can manage, and maybe even love.
