One afternoon, as I drove my eight-year-old to soccer practice, a realization struck me: I fit the mold of what society labels a “soccer mom.” This stereotype often depicts a suburban, middle-aged woman who seems to embody the clichés that make headlines during presidential elections.
As I reflected on my life, the evidence was compelling. I have two children, and one is indeed a soccer player. My minivan, a vehicle I once criticized, now feels like an essential part of my existence—it’s nearly as long as a football field! I’ve succumbed to wearing yoga pants far too often and, much to the dismay of my sister who lives in Los Angeles, I occasionally pair my jeans with tennis shoes. I traded city life for a suburban home in a reputable school district, and shopping at Costco has become both practical and necessary, with purchases like two gallons of peanut butter and ten whole chickens no longer seeming absurd. My husband and I are even discussing the addition of a dog to our family. I’ve found myself yelling “slow down” at speeding cars on our street, and perhaps the most telling sign of my transformation: I felt a rush of excitement when buying a new extra-large washer and dryer.
For the first time, I appeared to fit into a pre-defined category. As a child, I never strongly identified as a tomboy or girly girl, nor did I belong to any specific social group. Like many from my generation, I enjoyed The Breakfast Club, yet I couldn’t identify with any of its characters. I saw aspects of certain stereotypes in myself, but never the complete picture; I was simply me.
Before becoming a parent, I scoffed at minivans and dreaded getting stuck behind one on the road. I preferred living in a series of rundown city apartments over the suburban lifestyle. I spent minimal time in those apartments, opting instead for frequent travels. I frequented flea markets, didn’t own a car, dined at trendy eateries, and my weekends were filled with late nights and lazy mornings. My kitchen was equipped with only a pot and a pan, and I was clueless about how to use them. Although I always desired children, my understanding of motherhood was vague at best.
Fast forward several years—after marrying and welcoming children in my thirties—it suddenly hit me one day that I had become a 40-year-old soccer mom. I pondered my membership in this “soccer mom” sorority for longer than I care to admit, but then I realized something crucial: I am not a stereotype—none of us truly are. I still wear mismatched socks, find cooking tedious, enjoy lounging in pajamas until noon on weekends, love reading and traveling, frequently visit museums, and indulge in cold pizza for breakfast. I laugh until I cry, need daily outdoor time, and dream of replacing my minivan when my finances and parenting duties allow. My children appreciate both NASCAR and opera. Among my favorite television shows are Downton Abbey and The Walking Dead.
Despite the passage of time, my core values remain unchanged. Family, faith, integrity, friendship, a love for nature, and an appreciation for life—not treating it as a competition—were important to me in my twenties, and they still are today.
My brief midlife crisis subsided as quickly as it arose. The elements associated with being a soccer mom are merely facets of motherhood; they don’t define who I am. I suspect this realization is true for many of us. As we navigate middle age, we juggle parenting responsibilities, care for aging parents, pursue career advancements, and start planning for retirement. Our bodies may begin to show signs of wear, but beneath the surface, our true selves remain.
Long ago, my grandmother, at 78 years old, told me that in her heart, she still felt 25. In many ways, we are all still that age at heart.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the author’s unexpected embrace of the “soccer mom” stereotype and the realization that while life changes, core values remain intact. The journey from city living to suburban motherhood reveals that identities are multifaceted and that true self doesn’t conform to societal labels.
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