I am the octopus

Three hearts, eight legs, and my artist soul. Taking pride in motherhood and embracing my thirties in a Peter Pan industry.

Did you know that an octopus has three hearts? I learned this recently from a children’s book I was reading to my daughter, Georgia.

I, too, have three hearts. One in my chest, one in my five-year-old-daughter, Georgia’s chest, and one in 22-month-old-son Shiloh’s chest. Any mother knows what I mean when I say this. And probably any father, too.

To say we are inextricably connected, spiritually intertwined, gravitationally pulled to one another, doesn’t hammer the message enough. As I write these letters, Shiloh naps beside me. His presence puts me at ease, and mine him. Why move to the other side of the house, to a cold lonely couch, when I can write this to the meditative sound of his sweet breath, inches from my face?

Pregnant with Georgia. Photo by Ashley Walters.

Let’s take the metaphor further. Perhaps the octopus’ eight arms are the endless roles the mother plays: the teacher, the play-mate, the soother, the nurturer, the disciplinarian, the protector, the audience, the cuddler, etc. Or maybe the eight arms are the endless jobs the mother does, and then the other jobs the mother does, if she has another job or career: the tidier, the diaper-changer, the homework-helper, the grocery-shopper, the cooker, the bather, the dish-washer, the party-planner, the wife, and then, the song-writer, the singer, the guitar-player, the touring musician, the writer, the-trying-to-keep-up-with-the-socials, and the constantly-searching-for-the-side-hustle that will pay the rent and make all this possible, yet still give me enough time and energy to do the rest? And please don’t mistake me, I love all of it. The mom and the artist stuff, that is. I’m not trying to show off about how much work I do—because everyone does a lot of work, that’s called being alive—I’m just making a point. I love all the jobs being a mother entails. I only wish I had more arms to do some of the more tedious and laborious ones quicker (dishes, cleaning, folding laundry.) I love the work that comes with the music, except maybe the social media aspect, and the negotiating music contracts, etc. I just wish I didn’t have to think about the side hustle. But I digress.

So how does this identity fit into an industry and culture, so utterly and obsessively fixated on youth? Maybe it doesn’t. But it should. Art and music are ageless. The artist lives with that fire through an entire lifetime. Art of value comes at every age and at every stage of life.

On tour in the UK. My mom flew out with the kids for the last week of the Deap Vally Farewell tour. We were all exhausted. I’m wearing Georgia’s travel pillow/ eye mask.

Millie Bobby Brown has been getting some heat recently for her physical appearance change, and she’s fired back with “I refuse to apologize for growing up,” which I think is bad ass. She wants to embrace her womanhood, a new chapter of her life. She’s recently married, and she’s been experimenting with a hyper-feminine new look: blonde locks, red lipstick, tight dresses. And for some reason, people are really upset by this. It seems people want to see her suspended in a state of perpetual adolescence forever: frozen in time—not even as herself— but as Number 11 from Stranger Things. And maybe this is because people don’t want to see celebrities as humans. Or maybe watching a child grow up makes people have to come to terms with their own greying hairs and mortality. But, my God, who are we to tell her how much makeup she’s allowed to wear and what hair style she rocks?

I too, refuse to apologize for growing up. Being a mom is such an integral part of who I am now. And I love that, and would never want to apologize for it. And in truth, my children are a well of inspiration for me. Some of my favorite songs have blossomed out of the fertile soil of motherhood, but that’s besides the point.

Shiloh in the Baby Taylor case. That’s the guitar I’ve had since 5th grade.

Georgia’s 4th birthday.

My point is this: as a woman, and as an artist, I refuse to be stuck in the mud, to be stunted. I will grow, I will change, and adapt. I want to be whole, and to heal. My music and art will grow and change with me.

The truth is—having kids saved my life. They gave my life a deeper purpose and meaning than my insatiable quest for success or being a famous musician, etc. They gave my life the structure I desperately needed, that I was missing for so many years. Their presence encouraged me to make healthier choices in my life. But maybe the biggest thing, was that because of motherhood, I finally had to do the scary thing and get the treatment I needed for crippling OCD that was stealing my life from me. I had been putting off ERP (exposure and response prevention) for a long time. It felt like I was about to walk off a cliff (and who would want to do that?) but I had to take that leap of faith, otherwise I would lose everything. Everything I loved. My doctor said I was fortunate. She said some people never do the treatment, do the scary thing that feels like walking into a fire, because they don’t have anything to lose. I had something to lose. I had everything to lose. And I refused to lose it. So I did the scary treatment; I did the work and the self-help. It saved my life. And THANK GOD. But it’s still a bit of a daily battle. Fortunately I know the drill now, and I have my children to be strong, brave and healthy for.

Georgia’s 5th birthday school celebration

But I will always have that fiery adolescent girl in me. I will always be a little bit trashy. I can’t help it. I’m always a little bit sloppier than the other moms: a stain on my shirt, stains on my kids’ clothes, later bed-times than the other kids, running late to school or karate, sipping a sangria with a mom friend as we watch our kids play. My mom-bestie and I have a joke that we’re the degenerate moms. She’s also a professional touring mom. Well, it turns out, my daughter’s new school is full of degenerate parents. We’re in LA, so everyone is in the entertainment industry. I see multiple families walking late to school every morning. Artists are on their own clock. It’s called LA time.

Pregnant with Georgia

Pregnant with Shiloh. Same mirror, different year, different baby.

The degenerate mom thing is a joke, of course, but I like the joke, because there’s some truth in it: the disheveled factor, the looseness. My good friend, who is also my old manager, said that there’s a sloppiness about me that’s part of my charm, my image. I guess I just don’t know any other way. That being said, I’m trying to not rely on the nightly glass of wine to de-stress and take the pain from my shoulders. I’m practicing healthier habits: trying to get my 10,000 steps a day in, incorporating a lot more vegetables into my cooking, earlier bed times, wine only on the weekends.

Maybe that makes my socials more boring, but I don’t care. I think it makes them, and me, more interesting.

Newborn Georgia. Sweet girl.

Is the mom stuff industry kryptonite? Is it career suicide? If it is, I don’t care. But I’ve just noticed that every time I post some mom content, I lose a few followers. What do people want to see, me holding my baby while snorting coke off a toilet seat? It’s probably just the great realignment that happens as my image changes: out with the old, in with the new. That’s okay. Mom content isn’t for everyone. All I’m saying is, it’s impossible for me to erase that part of me, when it’s such a massive part of who I am. And why would I want to?

London Underground with my kids, on tour.

Guerneville, I think.

Guerneville, on the Russian River.

But in this industry that demands constant presence on social media, I refuse to pretend to be someone else. I’m not gonna pretend to be a teenie bopper, a high school girl, grinding up on her friends at a house party. Cringe.

And maybe it’s just that rocker/mom are an unusual pairing for people to see. But for me, that’s just who I am. I want the freedom to write about anything. And really, no one’s complained. Maybe I’m just a little self-conscious because I’m in my thirties and have two kids, in an industry where you peak at 18.

Huntington Gardens.

Which brings me to my last point: I feel like I should just fully embrace the mom lane. Isn’t that a really lucrative lane anyhow? The mom industry?

All Star Lanes, acting in a cowboy boot commercial.

So what do you think? Should I keep my blog name Troy on Tour or change it?

I am quite fond of it. But I always really like Rock Mom.

Thanks for letting me rant. I’ll leave you with this. A video of me recording my ep the other day with Shiloh asleep on the bed. He kept waking up in the other room, so we brought him into the guest bedroom/office/music studio as I recorded, and then he nodded off to the sound of my music. Sweet boy. I replaced my song with John Lennon. You’ll have to wait a little longer to hear this one. ;)

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