Becs

@rebeccacortez802

You know those TikTok accounts that feel less like curated content and more like catching up with your most real friend? That’s Becs. Scroll through @rebeccacortez802’s feed, and you’re instantly dropped into the beautifully chaotic rhythm of a Texas mom juggling toddler tantrums, homeschooling attempts, and the eternal quest for five minutes of quiet. One minute she’s filming her two-year-old smearing blueberries across the kitchen counter like abstract art; the next, she’s deadpanning into her phone at 5 a.m. during a rare nap time, whispering, "This coffee is cold, and so is my will to live." It’s raw, relatable, and utterly devoid of the pressured perfection that drowns so much parenting content online. Her viral moment wasn’t some elaborate skit—it was a 15-second clip of her trying to assemble a crib while her dog chewed the instructions. Simple, messy, *real*.

Becs’ style is her superpower: no filters, no fancy edits, just iPhone footage shot at eye level, often propped on a pile of laundry. She films in the trenches—mid-meltdown, hair in a messy bun, wearing yesterday’s leggings. You hear household noise in the background: a TV blaring *Paw Patrol*, a baby monitor crackling, the ominous thud of a toppled block tower. She doesn’t preach; she *shares*. Like when she documented her struggle with ADHD while managing a household, casually mentioning how she uses sticky notes *everywhere* ("Even on the milk carton: 'DRINK WATER, BECS'"). It’s these tiny, unvarnished details—a chipped nail polish, a half-eaten granola bar stuck to the couch—that make followers feel seen, not sold to.

Her impact resonates most in the comments. Fans don’t just say "love this!"—they pour out their own stories: "I cried watching this because today felt exactly like this," or "Sent this to my husband after he forgot our kid’s snack *again*." DMs are flooded with moms thanking her for normalizing the chaos, with one fan joking she’s "the only person who gets why I hide in the pantry to eat cookies." Becs actually replies to so many comments that her pinned comment on a recent video read: "Y’all—my phone died from all the ❤️ emojis. Go nap. I’ll be here." That reciprocity turns passive viewers into a community.

Behind the camera, Becs (real name Rebecca Cortez) is a former elementary school aide from El Paso, now a full-time mom to her toddler and infant. She started posting during lockdown when she felt isolated, initially sharing quick "day in the life" snippets. Her follower count quietly grew from 27K to nearly 90K in under a year—not through trends, but consistency. She’s openly talked about her postpartum anxiety journey and how posting helped her process it, often signing off with "We’re all just figuring it out, yeah?" No corporate sponsorships clutter her feed; her only promo is for a local San Antonio bakery she loves ("Their cinnamon rolls saved my sanity after the C-section").

What makes Becs stick? She’s not selling a dream; she’s holding up a mirror. In a feed saturated with staged lifestyles, her honesty is the antidote. She’ll show the glitter explosion from a failed craft project *and* the quiet moment later where she hugs her sleeping kid, whispering, "You’re my favorite disaster." It’s this refusal to perform—choosing authenticity over algorithm bait—that makes hitting "follow" feel like gaining a friend who gets it. No grand finale, just a gentle reminder: you’re not alone in the mess.