Updated: July 9, 2020
Originally Published: May 12, 2005
While driving my 8-year-old to soccer practice one day, it hit me: I am a soccer mom—a classic stereotype of the suburban, middle-aged mother often featured in the headlines during presidential elections. I took a moment to reflect on my life, and the evidence was compelling. I have two kids, one of whom is a soccer player. I surrendered to the allure of the minivan, now driving a vehicle that could rival a football field in length. My wardrobe has become dominated by yoga pants, and, much to my sister’s dismay, I sometimes wear sneakers with jeans. Years ago, I traded city living for a home in a desirable suburban school district. Shopping at Costco has become second nature—stocking up on two gallons of peanut butter and ten whole chickens feels practical now. My husband and I are even contemplating getting a dog. I’ve found myself shouting “slow down” at speeding cars on our street. And perhaps most telling, I was genuinely thrilled to buy a new, extra-large washer and dryer.
For the first time, I seemed to fit into a ready-made mold. As a child, I never identified with any social group—I wasn’t a tomboy or a girly girl, nor was I goth or grunge, a nerd or part of the popular crowd. I loved The Breakfast Club like everyone else but felt no connection to its characters. I saw bits of myself in various stereotypes but never the whole package. I was just me.
Before having kids, I chuckled at minivans and dreaded being stuck behind one as it crawled down the road. I chose to live in a series of dilapidated apartments in the city rather than succumb to suburban life. Unsurprisingly, I spent little time in those apartments, frequently traveling instead. I shopped at flea markets, didn’t own a car, dined at trendy restaurants, and lived a nightlife of late nights and lazy mornings. My kitchen was sparse, with just one pot and one pan, and I had no idea how to use them. While I yearned for children, my thoughts on motherhood were vague at best.
I married and started a family in my thirties. As the years rolled by, I suddenly woke up as a 40-year-old soccer mom. I fixated on my new identity for too long, but eventually realized that I’m not a stereotype—none of us truly are. I still wear mismatched socks, view cooking as a chore, and cherish lazy weekend mornings in pajamas. I love exploring new places, diving into books, visiting museums, and eating cold pizza for breakfast whenever possible. I laugh until I cry, feel restless if I don’t spend time outdoors, and dream of parting ways with my minivan once my finances and parenting duties allow. I’m raising kids who appreciate both NASCAR and opera. My taste in television is eclectic; I adore Downton Abbey just as much as The Walking Dead.
Time may have passed, but my core values remain unchanged. Family, faith, integrity, friendship, a love for the outdoors, and a belief in the joy of laughter were important in my twenties, and they still matter to me today.
My midlife crisis ended as suddenly as it began. The trappings of a soccer mom are simply a part of motherhood, not my entire identity. I suspect many of us face similar realizations. As we transition into middle age, we juggle raising children, caring for aging parents, advancing in our careers, and worrying about retirement savings. Our bodies may start to creak, and we might appear to fit the typical mold of middle-aged adults. Yet beneath the surface of age and responsibility, our authentic selves remain.
I recall my grandmother, who at 78, told me she still felt 25 at heart. Deep down, many of us still carry that youthful spirit.
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Summary:
In reflecting on her life, the author realizes that while she fits the stereotype of a “soccer mom,” these traits do not define her identity. Through her journey from city life to suburban motherhood, she grapples with the stereotype while acknowledging her unique values and interests. Ultimately, she concludes that beneath the labels and responsibilities of middle age, our true selves remain vibrant and unchanged.