I’m a statement earring girl. I love a bold lip. I’m not afraid of color or pattern in my wardrobe. And yet, when my mom dropped a short stack of cheetah print in my lap on Saturday morning, my first thought was whew! Not sure I can pull that off.

I hopped in my car for a long solo road trip back to Denver a bit later that morning, tried my darndest to remember radio stations I used to tune into in the Black Hills, found nothing but a whole lot of static, and quickly settled on firing up the audiobook I’d downloaded for this very moment: Untamed by Glennon Doyle. And literally you guys, right in the Prologue, the first juicy gut punch hit me hard. She introduced me to Tabitha, a cheetah that was born in a zoo and raised to be the tame best friend of yellow lab, and shared a quick little moment in which Glennon observed Tabitha looking wild. She ends the Prologue with this…

“Tabitha. You are not crazy.

You are a goddamn cheetah.”

Well played, Mom. Well.Played. A mom’s truth bomb timing never dulls, apparently.

I was always a girl that tried so hard to be tame — the good student, the rule-follower, the perfect child, the nice girl. But wowee, you put me on a court or a field, you threatened a friend or family member, you questioned my abilities or beliefs, and I was a goddamn cheetah. That dichotomy is still there as a mother, a professional, a wife, but most of the time, that nice leash holds me firmly in the land of the tamed. I’ve learned to control myself. I’m playing with the idea that maybe that leash needs to burn, permanently.

So yesterday, I put the buttery-soft cheetah workout pants on and walked into the gym a little self-conscious and a little on fire. All those thoughts flitted through my nice-girl head: are they too much? They’re not the most flattering workout pants. My butt is large and in charge. Oh shit, there’s only a front-and-center spot in front of the stage and these pants are just soooo much. Now everybody has to look at my big cheetah ass.

And then I pumped iron for an hour. I sweat like a cheetah. I breathed hard like an athlete. I used my strong muscles like the fierce mother I am.

I strutted out of that gym a goddamn cheetah stalking a green chile breakfast burrito and a coffee, and thought — if the cheetah print fits — and it does, my loves, like a goddamn glove.