I see color. And because I see it, I can fight for a world where that color is celebrated, not feared. Where it is a source of pride, not a target. Where my son can be seen fully for who he is—Black, beautiful, and whole.
One of the key ways in which Rand challenges traditional notions of motherhood is by embracing her postpartum body. In an industry notorious for its beauty standards, Rand has been open about her struggles with body image and self-acceptance after giving birth. Through her writing and modeling, she has shown that a mother's body is not something to be ashamed of, but rather something to be celebrated. This message is particularly significant in the context of Mutha Magazine, which seeks to redefine the way we think about mothers and their bodies.
Finally, Allison’s relationship with Mutha Magazine itself reflects a broader shift in feminist media. Mutha did not seek to offer solutions (there are no "10 Ways to Reclaim Your Identity" listicles). Instead, it provided a literary witness. Allison’s voice is the proof in the pudding of the magazine’s mission: to create a sanctuary for the messy, the angry, and the ambivalent. She writes not as a parenting expert, but as a combatant in the trenches of early childhood, sending back dispatches that are raw, darkly funny, and devastatingly true.
To say "I don't see color" is to say "I don't see the systemic racism that affects your life." It is to say "I don't see the history of oppression that runs through your veins." It is to say, "I don't see you." mutha magazine allison
In the end, the essays of Allison in Mutha Magazine endure because they refuse the tyranny of the happy ending. They do not argue that the exhaustion is worth it, nor do they suggest that it will pass. Instead, they offer something rarer: solidarity in the rubble. By naming the vulnus—the open wound of maternal identity—Allison transforms her personal chaos into a collective howl. She reminds us that to be a Mutha is not to be a saint, but to be a person who, against all odds, continues to write the story even when the ink keeps spilling.
Furthermore, Allison’s writing highlights the unique double-bind of the . The magazine often explores how creative labor and reproductive labor are cast as enemies. For Allison, the act of writing is not an escape but a hemorrhage. She describes how her daughter’s nap time is a frantic race between laundry and the blinking cursor. The result is a fragmented aesthetic: short, breathless paragraphs, lists, and unfinished sentences. In “The Sentence I Cannot Finish,” she literally leaves blank spaces in the text where her child interrupted her. This is not a gimmick; it is a formal representation of maternal cognitive load. It argues that the masterpiece of the mother is not a polished novel, but the ability to retain a single coherent thought for sixty seconds.
To read Allison in Mutha is to encounter the concept of the vulnus —the wound that does not close. Unlike the traditional narrative arc of motherhood, which moves from pregnancy to delivery to a “new normal,” Allison’s work rejects resolution. In pieces like “The Leak” (Issue #4) and “On Not Sleeping,” she refuses to frame postpartum depression, marital strain, or identity loss as temporary hurdles. Instead, she presents them as permanent landscapes. Her prose is unflinching; she writes about the smell of sour milk on a shirt she has worn for three days, the secret calculus of resentment toward a co-sleeping toddler, and the bizarre grief for a former self who could read a novel in a single afternoon. I see color
It sounds nice. It sounds like the right thing to say. It sounds like the world we all want to live in—a world where skin color doesn’t matter, where history doesn’t haunt us, and where everyone is judged solely on the content of their character.
Launched in 2013, Mutha Magazine is a quarterly publication that celebrates motherhood in all its forms. The magazine's founder, Lori Schade, aimed to create a platform that would amplify the voices of mothers and challenge the stigma surrounding motherhood. Through its pages, Mutha Magazine features stories, essays, and artwork that showcase the complexities and realities of motherhood, often going against the grain of traditional media narratives.
Allison Rand's involvement with Mutha Magazine is multifaceted. As a contributing writer and model, Rand has used her platform to share her own experiences as a mother, tackling topics such as body image, parenting, and identity. Her writing is characterized by its honesty, humor, and vulnerability, making her a relatable and endearing figure to readers. Where my son can be seen fully for
(If you were looking for a different "Allison"—such as Allison Slater Tate or a fiction piece—please let me know, as Mutha Magazine features many authors.)
While there is no single editor or founder named "Allison," features a distinct collective of contributors named Allison (and Alison) who have shaped the publication’s reputation for raw, non-traditional parenting narratives. Founded by Michelle Tea and currently led by Editor-in-Chief Meg Lemke , the magazine serves as a literary sanctuary for those who parent outside the mainstream. The "Allison" Collective: Key Contributors
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