Becoming a mom made me more contentious about expressing my true

“Becoming a mom made me more contentious about expressing my true taste.” — thus spoke Edie Brickell, and though her words appear simple, they are a beacon shining upon one of life’s most ancient struggles: the battle between the mask and the soul, between what the world demands and what the heart longs to reveal. In her confession we hear not only the story of an artist, but the eternal cry of all who stand at the crossroads of identity and responsibility.

To become a mom is to carry within one’s arms both a fragile life and the heavy weight of expectation. Society paints the mother with brushstrokes of selflessness, silence, and conformity, as if to say, “You must vanish that your child may thrive.” But Brickell dares to reveal another truth: that in giving birth to another, she also gave rebirth to herself. The child became a mirror, reflecting not only love but also the need for authenticity, for the true taste of the mother to be expressed boldly. For how can one guide a soul into the world while denying one’s own?

Consider the tale of Hypatia of Alexandria, philosopher and teacher, who lived in a time when women were seldom permitted to speak in the halls of wisdom. She, however, raised countless students as if they were her own children, nurturing their minds with the milk of philosophy. But in so doing, she never silenced her true taste for reason and truth. Though she lived in an age that demanded her submission, she chose to express herself fully, and through her courage, her legacy endures. Like Brickell, Hypatia shows us that motherhood—whether of the body or of the mind—is not a surrender of self, but a summoning of greater selfhood.

The word contentious here is a fire. It tells us that expression is not always welcomed with open arms; it must sometimes be wrestled into the world. To voice your true taste, your true identity, is to invite resistance from those who prefer you pliant and silent. Brickell, in becoming a mom, discovered not a weakening but a sharpening of resolve. She became more willing to battle for authenticity, for her children gave her cause not to live a lie. For what is a greater inheritance for a child: a world of conformity, or the living example of a parent unafraid to stand in truth?

The origin of this wisdom lies in the transformation that responsibility brings. Parenthood, leadership, love—these are crucibles in which we are remade. Some imagine that such duties diminish the individual, but in truth, they can reveal the essence that was hidden. The mother who once might have deferred to the crowd now finds the strength to say, “No, this is who I am.” For the eyes of the child are upon her, and she cannot teach courage while living in fear.

And so the lesson for us is clear: responsibility is not a chain, but a forge. When life places weight upon your shoulders, let that weight press you into your truest shape, rather than bending you into silence. Express your true taste—your art, your faith, your convictions—not in defiance of your duties, but as the fulfillment of them. To live authentically is the greatest gift you can give to those who depend on you.

Practical action follows: identify one part of your true taste that you have hidden for fear of judgment. Perhaps it is a style of dress, a song in your heart, a belief you carry, or a dream long deferred. Speak it, live it, or share it today in some small way. Begin the practice of authenticity not as rebellion, but as nourishment—for yourself, and for those who look to you. In this way, you become both guide and example, showing that duty and authenticity are not enemies, but allies.

Thus, Brickell’s words endure like a quiet hymn: motherhood did not silence her; it awakened her voice. And so may it be with us all. When life demands more of us, let us not shrink, but rise, and in rising, let us bring forth our own true taste, so that those who come after us may walk a path illuminated by truth, courage, and freedom.