Would it kill The Rant Wall to let us have a basic-a## profile page? I’m not asking for some full-blown Facebook nonsense. Just a tiny little “About Me” section or something. Sometimes I read people’s rants and I’m like d###, I feel this but I have no idea who the h### they are. Are they a mom like me? Burnt out? Young? Old? S###, even just a sentence would help. I’d love to throw up something like “overwhelmed Midwestern mom of 3 who’s just trying not to lose her s###.” That way if someone relates, they know where I’m coming from. It ain’t about clout it’s about connection. This place is already raw and real. Let us show a sliver of who we are behind the venting. That’s all.

You know what p##### me off? The way people act like being a stay-at-home mom is some luxury. Like I’m just lounging around in yoga pants sipping lattes. Nah, I’m scrubbing s### out of underwear, refereeing tantrums, trying to cook something everyone will eat without gagging, and oh yeah doing it all with zero breaks, no paycheck, and d### near no appreciation. I don’t clock out. I don’t get weekends. I can’t even take a s### without someone banging on the door. But sure, tell me how “lucky” I am to be home all day. Lucky my a##.

I'm so d### tired of pretending everything's fine. You ever feel like you're drowning in laundry, bills, noise and no one notices? My husband comes home, eats, zones out, and asks why I'm “in a mood.” In a mood? I’ve been in the trenches all day with three kids who argue like it’s a sport and somehow manage to destroy a clean house in under 10 minutes. I don’t need flowers. I need HELP. Real, consistent, “I see you and I got this” kind of help. Not another passive-aggressive “you could’ve asked.” G##, I miss being just me, not just “mom.”

I swear to g##, if one more person tells me “you chose to be a mom,” I’m gonna lose it. Yeah, I chose motherhood, not unpaid full-time therapist, chef, maid, and emotional punching bag. My kids are great, but I haven’t peed alone in 7 years and somehow the electric bill is $300. Again. Where’s my break?