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This story originally appeared on Medium .

It's August in Northern Virginia, hot and humid . I still haven't showered from my morning trail run.

I'm wearing my stay-at-home mum uniform — over-sized sweats, t-shirt, Crocs, ponytail. I feel safe in this uniform. It doesn't hug any part of my body, allowing me to hide my physical failures.

In this uniform I can pretend I'm acceptable, tolerable. It says I did something today, I tried.

This look combined with toilets I scrubbed until they shine sends the message "I'm not a lazy pig, I'm valuable. Please keep me."

This u

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