No. 14 | Not like the other moms
I thought I was used to being different. So why does it still scare me?
After we returned from Greece, a post I shared on Instagram went kinda viral.
I have a complicated relationship with Instagram recently. My growth and reach on the app has all but flatlined—something a lot of Instagram creators aren’t happy about, but something I’m not willing to boost by resorting to cutesy Tiktok-like reels, or other like-baiting tactics. Too old, too done with performing cuteness. But I digress.
So when this post with my thoughts on body image as a mother suddenly started getting way more likes, views and saves than any of my posts in the last year, I sat up and took notice.
It was definitely being shared, except thanks to EU data privacy laws, I couldn’t tell exactly who and how many people were sharing it.
And I was suddenly getting new followers. Lots of them.
But instead of making me thrilled, it made me kind of… nervous.
Most of my new followers were a specific demographic. They were Filipina moms… just like me. That meant my post was doing the rounds in small, tight-knit communities of Filipina moms… just like me.
So now you’re thinking… well, that’s great, right? You’re a Filipina mom. That’s totally your audience.
It made me nervous because… well, I’m going to tell you a secret.
You see, I’m not like the other Filipina moms.
When the mom squad started following me, my first thought was Oh wow! This is awesome! but my second thought was Uh-oh.
Wait till they find out about me.
They’re not going to like me.
It shouldn’t be so confronting. After all, I’ve had lots of experience being different.
I’ve been not like the others since birth. Born half Indian into a homogenous society where 98.8 percent of the population is ethnically Filipino (my totally unscientific estimate, don’t quote me), I was always the different one, teased for my name and for all the offensive stereotypes of Indians that persist among Filipinos. (I won’t bore you with them.)
I was not like the others in high school. Growing up in a strictly religious, gender-segregated private school system, at the age of 15 I was among the first in my all-girls Catholic school to have a boyfriend, and one of the very few to have close male friends. Que horror!
I was not like the others when I attended a wealthy, elite university as a poor student on a full scholarship and a quarterly stipend.
I was not like the others when I finished my degree late because I went on concert tours in Europe with my university choir.
I feel even more acutely not like the others as a Filipina-Indian immigrant in the Netherlands.
In many, if not most of my interactions, I increase diversity just by walking into the room. But also, I’m short—I’m 1,56m (a squosh under 5’2”) in a country where the average height for women is 1,67m (5’6”). Nothing in this country is made for my proportions—not bikes, supermarket shelves, or mirrors in public restrooms. Not even my own toilet in my own house. My feet don’t touch the floor when I sit down.
I am not like the others because I am in a happy, loving, committed relationship that also happens to be consensually non-monogamous.
I am a very rare bird: a wife and a mother, with both a husband and a boyfriend. And occasional lovers on the side. (Clutch those pearls, baby. You know you want to.) I don’t know that there are many of our kind. And I don’t know that any of us are Filipina.
Then there are the myriad other tiny things that make me different, i.e. weird. Like the fact that I love to suck on ketchup packets and eat instant noodles raw. Or that I can’t sleep with the doors open or the lights completely off. Or that I can only push off on my bike with my right foot.
So, I’m used to being different.
In fact, I’m pretty sure you haven’t met anyone like me. And I love that about me.
One of the greatest lessons my mother taught me is this: what makes me different makes me special.
But the truth is, it also makes me fear being unliked, rejected, and judged.
It leaves me vulnerable. And that is scary.
This week, I acknowledged the fact of my open marriage to my Instagram audience of over 12,000—something I’ve been sweating over for a long time.
You see, in the summer of 2018 I wrote an essay about being in an open marriage. Then I shoved it into a drawer for two years, never finishing it, fearful that it would expose me.
Since then, my fucks have fluttered away like the pages of a calendar in a stiff wind. And now I’m turning that essay (which I did finish, with the help of my amazing writing coach) into a book.
If this book is to have any chance of making it into readers’ hands, I need to completely rewrite my relationship with vulnerability. As with guilt, shame, judgment, and that hard-wired need to be liked and accepted.
It’s easier said than done. Every time I think I peel away another layer, I find another one lurking beneath. Like some kind of vulnerability onion.
If you’ve been reading these letters for a while, you know enough about me to know why I’m different. But I haven’t given away all my secrets yet. What would be the fun in that? There’s more to reveal, so I hope you stick around for the unpeeling. I promise it won’t be boring. I’ll try to make it less like an onion, and more like chocolate.
I bet there’s something that’s different about you too. Something that makes you not like the others, but that you love—secretly or not-so-secretly—about yourself.
So tell me.
What makes you not like the others?
What makes you different?
Let’s celebrate our differences together. Because what helps me stay brave and true to myself is knowing that there are many of us who are also different.
And the more of each other we find, look up to, and hold in each other’s care, the easier and more joyful being not like the others will be.
Here in Amsterdam we’re having an unexpectedly beautiful September, and the last hot glimmers of summer are calling me away.
See you in two weeks!
Brave. I'm not like the others because I'm trying to make Catholicism cool and relevant at work and with regular people acknowledging that I'm not that religious and far from being saintly. What I learned is that Jesus accepted everyone and that kills the me vs you vibe of many religious. You have to come into conscience that what you do is life giving and freeing and if you accept that then who are we to judge?
Wow, this one hit differently. I didn't ever come here to comment but just had to this time. I've been 'not like the others' my whole life and often struggled with that parallel of different means special / fear of being unliked and rejected. Just thought you'd like to know your words hit very deep - thank you for that. Ps. I can only push off on my bike with my left foot, and thought I was the only one with that weird quirk :)