Being a Mom Doesn’t Mean Losing Yourself — The Bad Breed maa Rule
Told by the Bad Breed Themselves
The Realm wasn’t built quiet.
It wasn’t built delicate.
And it sure as hell wasn’t built by a woman who faded when motherhood hit.
This story?
This one’s told by us, the Bad Breed Maa’s, because we watched it happen.
We watched her refuse to shrink.
We watched her rebuild herself while raising a kid.
We watched her stay alive inside.
So pull up a chair.
The garage lights are buzzing.
The desert wind’s howling.
The Realm wants to talk.
REBEL SPEAKS FIRST — because she always does
“Lemme make something clear.”
Rebel crosses her arms, horns angled forward, eyes sharp enough to slice the silence.
“Being a mom didn’t soften her. It sharpened her. People act like motherhood is this thing that steals your edge, but I watched her walk into life with a diaper bag on one arm and discipline on the other.”
She drags a roller skate lace through her fingers.
“She never stopped being her. She kept lifting. Kept building. Kept grinding before sunrise. Moms don’t lose themselves, people just expect them to.”
Rebel spits to the side.
“Expectation ain’t law in my Realm.”
RAGE SLAMS A WRENCH DOWN
The whole bench rattles.
“You wanna talk about motherhood?”
Rage growls. “Talk about the FIRE.”
She lights a match with her thumbnail, not because she needs it, but because she likes the sound.
“You know that heat moms swallow?
The frustration.
The exhaustion.
The ‘I’m doing all this and still fighting myself.’”
The flame dances in her eyes.
“Yeah… she had that. She STILL has it. But she used it. She didn’t burn out , she learned to burn THROUGH.”
Rage shrugs.
“That’s Rule: don’t lose the fire just because you’re raising somebody else’s.”
LAWLESS ROLLS IN — literally
She skates in backwards, cigarettes and chaos trailing behind her.
“Lemme translate this in plain English:”
Lawless points both thumbs at herself.
“FUN. Ain’t. Dead.”
She grins wide, wild, and unbothered.
“Moms deserve freedom too , the kind that comes from wind-in-your-face, wheels-under-your-feet, nobody-tells-me-when-to-sit-
She spins once.
“She didn’t stop living loud. She didn’t stop laughing. She didn’t stop doing dumb, reckless, soul-feeding shit. THAT is motherhood too.”
VEX POPS UP FROM BEHIND A WORKBENCH
Covered in paint. Glitter. Smoke. Questionable magic.
“Everyone forgets something…”
Vex chirps, wiggling her purple hair.
“Moms are creative as HELL.”
She holds up a blueprint, upside down.
“You think raising a kid isn’t problem-solving? Innovating? Chaotic multitasking?”
She snorts.
“Our Maa created art, worlds, reels, stories , even when she was tired, even when she doubted, even when life was loud. Creativity ain’t a luxury. It’s survival.”
MEANEY PIPES UP FROM UNDER THE TABLE
The little beast growls with her tongue out.
“She never stopped being HER.”
Meany’s tail thumps.
“Still strong. Still stubborn. Still stylish. Still spicy.”
Then she barks once.
“And that kid of hers?
He grew up watching a mom who didn’t shrink, she EVOLVED.”
REBELS FINISHES IT LIKE A LEADER
Rebel steps forward, chin up, eyes fierce.
“Listen.”
“Motherhood doesn’t erase identity. People do that to themselves because they think they’re supposed to. But not her.”
She hooks her thumbs into her belt.
“She showed the next generation that life doesn’t pause when you become a parent. You lift heavy. You hustle. You build bikes. You skate fast. You chase money. You create worlds. You start over at thirty, forty, fifty if you damn well want to.”
Rebel looks straight at you, the reader, the mom, the woman figuring herself out.
“Being a mom ain’t the end. It’s the ignition.”
THE REALM’S PROMISE
To every woman reading this:
You don’t lose yourself when you become a mom.
You FIND yourself , the self that can endure, rebuild, rage, create, laugh, and live loud inside chaos.
Rule of the Bad Breed Maa’s:
Hold onto every part of you.
Your kid needs to see a woman who stayed ALIVE.