So apparently, I have the face. You know the one. The “is she mad or just thinking about tacos?” face. The kind of face that makes strangers ask, “Are you okay?” when you’re literally just standing there, existing. Yep. I’ve been told I have a textbook case of BRF—bitchy resting face.
It’s not like I mean to look unapproachable. Inside, I’m probably daydreaming about queso or mentally planning a grocery list that I’ll forget the second I walk into Publix. But from the outside? Apparently, I look like I’m silently judging everyone in the tri-county area.
It’s always funny to me because people who know me, know me. I’m sarcastic, a little chaotic, way too caffeinated—but definitely not mad. Rex teases me all the time about it. He says my “thinking face” could scare off solicitors. (Honestly, if that’s true, I should start standing by the front door more often.)
But here’s the thing: it’s not just in photos or serious moments. It happens everywhere. Car line pickup? BRF. Checking out at Target? BRF. Watching Nico’s soccer practice? Definitely BRF. Meanwhile, I’m just trying to locate my kid among 40 other children in identical jerseys, and people assume I’m plotting revenge on someone.
Even the kids have caught on. The other day, Anthony asked, “Mom, why do you look mad?” And I was like, “I’m not, baby, I’m just… thinking.” He shrugged and said, “You think mad.” And honestly? Fair.
The worst is when I see photos of myself. Everyone’s smiling, laughing, looking carefree—and there I am, in the corner, looking like I just got told someone ate the last empanada. I swear I was happy in that moment. I was probably laughing two seconds before or after the picture. But the camera? It loves to betray me.
Some of my friends have the opposite issue. They have what I call “permanent approachable face.” People smile at them in public, tell them their life stories in grocery lines, ask them for directions like they’re wearing an “Ask Me Anything” sign. Me? People cross their arms and say, “Rough day?” Nope, just Tuesday.
At some point, I stopped trying to fix it. I used to consciously soften my face in public, like “Look happy, Natalie, pretend you’re having a pleasant thought!” But forcing it just made me look…weird. Like I was hiding something or auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. It’s exhausting.
Now, I’ve learned to just embrace it. Maybe BRF is my superpower. It keeps unnecessary small talk at bay. It gets me through awkward social moments without having to say much. It even helps when I need to silently communicate “Mom is done” across the room without saying a word. Nico and Anthony know the look. It stops sibling chaos faster than any time-out ever could.
And honestly, there’s something kind of freeing about it. I don’t owe anyone a smile. I don’t need to look perky 24/7 just to make other people comfortable. My face tells the truth: sometimes I’m tired, sometimes I’m focused, sometimes I’m just zoning out and trying to remember if I switched the laundry. That’s real life.
But if you catch me mid-BRF moment, I promise I’m not plotting world domination. I’m probably thinking about dinner, trying to calculate how many hours of sleep I’ll get if I go to bed right now, or wondering if anyone else feels like their brain has too many browser tabs open.
So yes, I have BRF. But I’ve also got a good heart, a sarcastic sense of humor, and a resting face that doubles as a force field against nonsense. Seems like a fair trade to me.
And if you ever see me out and I look mad—just know, I’m probably happy on the inside. Or at least thinking about tacos.
So here is a picture of my Bitchy Resting Face, in the spirit of vacation and lightening up.
