I Refuse to Shrink Myself to Be an Unrealistic, Idealized Version of a Mother

and me and my son are just fine.

Hey y’all,

I’m glad you enjoyed the fabulous Shonda Scott interview last week—a few of you mentioned that we should continue doing interviews, so I’m excited to sprinkle some more of those onto the editorial calendar!

I’m keeping this week’s editor’s letter brief as I am about to head into one of those chaotic weeks that I experience every 17 business days where everything is happening everywhere all at once. I am MOVING TOMORROW 🫠 then heading to New York later this week, and then laaater I’m dipping out to West Africa for Detty December. But before I do, I need to get your opinions, my dear Carefree crew.

In 2025, Carefree will be hosting events and selling our first products. I’ve been itching to do this for awhile, and it’s finally happening. I want to know what you want to see, so help a good sis out!

Events ✨

• IRL community events: intimate events across the U.S. (for now) where we’d bring some of Carefree’s stories to life while connecting and discussing on topics important to young Black women.

• IRL storytelling events: would be similar to The Moth, where writers would share stories based on a theme

• Digital writing workshops: A space to share connect, learn, and hone your writing craft. This may be a masterclass from me on how to tell your story or monthly workshops where we share what we’re working on

• Author chats/mentorship: Hosted events with authors, marketers, creators, and entrepreneurs helping Black women reach their full potential

And about the merchandise drip…

Thank you for voting! And if you have any other ideas (or want all these ideas at once), as always, feel free to leave them in the comments.

This Week’s Story

Motherhood is one of those life duties that you never really understand until you become one. The purest of the IYKYK experiences. In this week’s essay, writer Gugu Khumalo shares her experience as a 24-year-old single mom who is still finding time for adventure while she learns how to co-exist with her new son.

Take care,

Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Media

I’m A 24-Year-Old Mom & I’m Letting My Inner-Child Do All The Parenting

by Gugu Khumalo

As the story goes for many little girls, I have always dreamed of becoming a mother. From bathing and clothing my baby dolls to babysitting my nephews and nieces—being a parent has always been in the cards for me. I imagined being a mother in my late 20s or early 30s with a house in the suburbs, a thriving career, and a loving partner.

My early 20s were a time of exploration. I had the classic college experience filled with great friendships, adventures, one too many drunken nights, and even a great love or two. After graduating, I took the year off to finish my novel.

But then something unexpected happened. I found myself pregnant, and my plans, my dreams, and my world flipped upside down. My envisioned career trajectory had barely taken off; I was far from my goal of a house in the suburbs, and my love life had gone up in flames. It wasn’t the situation I had imagined I'd be in when I got pregnant, but despite everything, I decided to proceed with the pregnancy.

I waded through my pregnancy under a veil of secrecy and fear, mortified at the thought of anyone finding out. Somehow, to my benefit or detriment, I still looked very small, just as if I had gained a couple of kilos. My hips widened, and my less-than-A-cup breasts bloomed to a conservative C, but there was no visible bump. As the time for his arrival neared. He felt heavier, but even though I had only gained minimal weight, looking back, it wasn't the pregnancy but rather the anxiety and guilt weighing down on me.

It seemed fitting; nothing about my pregnancy was the way I expected it to be.

I never did finish that novel.

His arrival.

Like falling asleep, he arrived slowly, gently, and then all at once. Labor lasted 20 hours, a wait that felt as long as the pregnancy itself. I had planned a natural birth with minimal intervention, complete with a big bouncy ball to de-stress, a warm bath, and no major drugs.

Around hour 18, the rug was pulled out from under me. The doctors told me he went into fetal distress, and to this day I’m not too sure what that means. I was taken from my initial room and thrust into a theatre adorned with glaring lights and a lingering clinical smell. The midwives in teddy bear scrubs were replaced with doctors in putrid green scrubs, and the soft and soothing voices of female midwives were replaced by various men speaking in robot-like technical jargon. And then, at 10:01, my baby was brought into the world via c-section. I begged the doctors to let me hold him or even see him. He was brought into one room, and I was carted into another. Is this normal? I thought to myself.

After an eternity later, they brought him back to me, scrubbed clean of all the vernix and afterbirth. He looked like one of those reborn dolls I longed for as a little girl—and he was all mine.

Home

I hate to say it, but for the first couple of days, he didn’t actually feel like mine. Instead, it felt like I was babysitting for a good friend. It wasn't until the two of us were truly left alone that it hit me like a ton of bricks. Holy shit, I’m 24, unmarried, a single parent, and I haven’t even found my “purpose.” The thoughts were spiraling like the Anxiety emotion in Inside Out 2.

While I felt unsure about the rest of my life and what it would look like, I accepted that my Zion was all that I had, and I was all he had. I wanted nothing more than to be a good mother to him. The only problem? I had no idea how to do that. The life I had come to know in my 20s did not seem to be featured in any of the parenting books.

Now

It was clear that the relationship that produced my son wouldn’t end in the white wedding dress fantasy I’d always dreamt of. I had some hope for a semblance of a functional co-parenting arrangement, a situation that would afford me a free day or two to have a moment to myself, socialize, and venture out into the world of self-improvement. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. So I made motherhood work for me.

I have thrown most of the advice, tips, and tidbits I’ve collected on parenthood out of the window. I have stopped trying to force myself into a box that I do not fit into. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to be a mother and was excited to start my life with my baby, but I feel I still had so much that I either had not finished or had not done in my 20-something adventures.

I could not leave the years of adventure and exploration my 20s promised to bring to sit on the backburner. I refused to shrink myself to try and be an unrealistic, idealized version of a mother that I had never known. And so, I’ve decided to live out my roaring twenties unapologetically while raising him.

He’s become a roommate of sorts. While I take care of the house, we enjoy each other's company over pudding and GRWM videos during the week. On Fridays, we may watch a movie—a cool glass of rosé for me and a tepid sippy cup of milk for him. While out shopping, he sits in his stroller and babbles at my mini skirts and crop tops, offering critique where it’s due.

We even went on a road trip together, albeit a short one. And like the best kind of friends, we split our time between each others’ interests: quad biking and hiking for me, and a petting zoo and sensory play date for him. It felt like a girls trip, without the excessive boozy nights and incessant flirting.

I’ve also started a ritual every month to try at least two things—something old and something new. For instance, when ordering a drink, I would order a margarita, something old, and an obnoxiously named (often expensive) drink, something new. I love this new practice and will be keeping it up.

While I miss my rambunctious 3-day ragers filled with cartons of cigarettes and tequila, I would like to think they aren’t completely gone, just replaced with a calmer and more tame sundowner or brunch. Since I’m not spending as much money on shots, I can now afford to splurge on car service and go to nicer places that I would never have thought of in my pre-baby days.

My friends have kept me going through all of this. Most of them are enjoying their 20’s, waiting to have kids later on in their lives, and then there are the empowered few who have already made the decision to be child-free. Despite their different feelings about becoming mothers, they have become a village of sorts in their own right.

As I journey through this new adventure that I’m only a year and some change into, my son and I make the rules up as we go—we’ll be just fine.