Dear Straight Moms,

I get it. We don’t look the same. In fact, I probably resemble and dress like your 12 year old son, but unlike him, I actually want to connect with you. When I smile and ask questions about your toddler, it’s because I also have one, and I’m looking for a non-threatening way to penetrate the invisible bubble around you and the other yoga-pant wearing moms. And no, I’m not knocking on you for dressing comfortably; ironically, that’s what this entire thing is about. Me trying to be comfortable. But I see you ignoring me. Is it because I’m wearing a Hurley hat? Workout gear that your husband owns?

I know I don’t dress like you and my tattoos might even intimate you, but I promise, they don’t bite, and neither do I. In fact, the last thing I sunk my teeth into was a book on neuroplasticity but based off of looks you’ve given me, I doubt you’d believe me.

What you don’t know is that I was voted top three therapist in the state. What you don’t know is that I have dedicated my life to saving the lives of others. And I’ve succeeded. Many, many times. I’ve literally brought people down from the ledge. You don’t know I’m a published poet or that I’m well travelled. You don’t know because you don’t seem to care to even bother trying to connect.

Maybe it’d be helpful if you understood a few things about me. When I was 18, I got my first tattoo. And like many people I know who got a tattoo on their 18th birthday, mine is a regret. It’s ugly, undesirably sentimental, and yes, I’ll admit…it’s a tribal tramp stamp. Three words no one wants to admit to, certainly not in a combination describing one tattoo. Oh, regrets. But alas, I digress…my desire to get my first tattoo was about connecting. I was beginning to explore my identity (as a lesbian, as a rebel, as someone who marched to her own drum). The more I connected with my community, the more tattoos and piercings I began to see.

I’m not sure why the LGBTQ community seems to have tattoos at a significantly increased rate when compared to our hetero-counterparts (perhaps an idea for a PhD thesis, although at this point I have so many ideas, I don’t know how to begin prioritizing them or if there are enough years in my life for me to study all of the things I hope to study. I also have a TON of hypotheses as to why so many of “us” stand out visually,, but now is not the time for that).

Regardless, I finally had found a community that accepted me for being me. Not because I had tattoos—at the time I didn’t have many—but because it didn’t matter whether or not I had tattoos. It didn’t matter whose hand I was holding or how big my belly was or anything else. It was a community based on acceptance, an ideal I can always stand behind.

The more I leaned into my community, the more I started to look like them. I can’t say it was on purpose, but I can’t say it wasn’t. I truly don’t know. For what it’s worth, I often wonder if I wasn’t a part of “that community” if I’d have any tattoos, or what my hair would look like. I truly don’t know if I was straight if I’d look like this or not. But I know it doesn’t matter. Because I’m not and they’re permanent. And, if we’re being honest, straight moms, you are the only people who make me regret them.

Sometimes I try to wear long sleeves to soften my image around you, at least initially. I spend time thinking about when—if ever—it’s safe enough to show my sleeve under my sleeve. My nose is still pierced (twice, in fact) and my hair is still a-symmetrical and moderately weird, but those are things I can’t hide as easily (ironically they’re also the easiest to change. The thing is, I don’t want to have to change to make you more comfortable around me. I want you to be comfortable regardless of how I look, to not let 8 inches of hair between us. Besides, I’ve seen a few of you with a diamond nose stud before. Believe me, I pay attention).

Here’s the real truth of the matter, straight moms. As a lesbian-identified parent, my social life has changed quite a bit since having kids. I’m guessing yours did, too. At least that has been the experience of almost every other parent I know, gay or straight. Many of our friends don’t have or don’t want kids, and I totally respect them for it. But just as they can afford to enjoy later nights and later mornings, I have chosen a life with children, a life that requires me to be in bed early to start my day before the sun does. I don’t regret it and wouldn’t change it for the world, but I’ll be honest, straight moms, I am always up for making more mom-friends.

In fact, I want to be friends with you. I long for more of the types of friendship connections that I used to have, and I absolutely cherish the friends I still do have. Some of them have kids (but we were friends before, so this is not written for them), some of them never will (totally cool with that), and others are in various stages of trying. This note is not to any of those amazingly wonderful and supportive people. This note is to you, the mom at soccer, the mom at preschool, the mom at the pool or the mall play area or gymnastics, the ice-cream store or the playground. The mom I don’t know whose talking so generously and openly to other moms you don’t know. The other moms that look like you with their pony tails, lulu pants and Hunter boots. The mom whose exchanging numbers with other moms because you get the struggle and your kids happen to be getting along and it turns out they both nap at the same time so why not try to meet here again same time next week? Why won’t you look at me? Why don’t you smile back?

When my partner first met me she told me I looked like a drug addict in recovery (I used to wear eyeliner, apparently that made a difference); after she got to know me, she said I should be wearing “kitty sweaters with balls of yarn embroidered on them”. See? I promise I’m not mean or scary or a monster. I promise I wake up early and change diapers and snuggle my kids and work hard to support my family and do all of the things you and your husband do. I promise it’s OK to treat me as an equal. You may even find that your older kids relate to me and end up trusting me with some very serious things that you wish you could find out but don’t know how.

So, straight moms, I hope next time you see me you’ll think twice before behaving in the very manner that you correct your toddler for behaving. I am raising a child to love and accept everyone, to be kind to all people, to not judge a book by it’s cover. I imagine you tell others you’re doing your best to do the same. But are you, straight moms? Are you modeling this? Because I can tell you right now your effort needs a bit of improvement if that’s a parenting goal you’ve identified for yourself.

I see you, straight moms, and more importantly, I see you trying not to look at me. You can’t get rid of me, because like you, I go where my kids are. So maybe next time I sit next to you, don’t immediately pull our your iPhone7 and distract yourself. You can say hi, I promise I don’t bite.