“Little by little, I was completely reeled in, under the impression I was speaking to a 16-year-old girl with a traumatic childhood. The next morning she called me names and said, ‘This isn’t going to work. I’m finding someone else.’ I was completely devastated. ‘What the hell just happened?’ This person doesn’t ask for money. They don’t ask for material possessions. She literally just wants to destroy you.”
“This morning was a battle. I worry. I worry because they are being picked on. It’s hard letting go, watching them hurt and struggle to find their way. We save our tears for the car, so they don’t doubt themselves.”
“A lot of people tell you how you should move on. You hope you’ve turned out to be every bit like Grandma. You dodge the card aisle because you can’t bring yourself to read them.”
“Parents. Stop the madness. The lectures. The play-by-plays. The should’ve, could’ve. Look around and you’ll see on every court, field, ball park…all the talk. How would it feel for someone to criticize your every word or move, in your ear? Even when they didn’t score, even when they didn’t win, even if they turned over the ball, flubbed up, or missed the catch, our kids need to be praised for their effort.”
“That first summer he came, all I can remember is the rash that covered my body for 6 months. It was my body’s way of telling me it was too much. I didn’t know how to be a mama to a then 7-year-old. As I walked beside him, I told him he never has to do that alone anymore. He looked up at me with his chocolate brown eyes. ‘Mommy, it sure is much easier to carry things together.’”
“My determination isn’t disabled, my fire isn’t disabled, but my body is. For a long time, this was hard to admit. I do my best to show up every day, but it’s not always enough. I can practically smell the resentment from my coworkers. My boss stopped believing me and asked for a ‘doctor’s note.’ Instead, I ended up hospitalized. ‘Is this good enough?’ I snarkily asked. I know I should keep my mouth shut, but I really can’t help myself. The struggle is REAL.”
“I’d never taken Madeline to a fashion show before because she was always sick. When her health increased, we walked in as I thought to myself, ‘What have I done?!’ I knew full well my daughter would want to be on that catwalk, too. Sure enough, after the show, she turned to me and said, ‘Mom. Me. Model.’ I’m the type of mom to do whatever I can to make things happen. Little did I know what this all would turn into.”
“I came home early on a Sunday morning. Still drunk from the night before. I had a plan. I executed my plan. I say this next part with absolutely no dramatization; if my wife had stayed in bed for another 10-15 seconds, I would absolutely be dead. I would’ve been dead that morning. I owe my life to her. And I wouldn’t be here to tell you that things get better.”
“The room is still, almost silent. I meet their beautiful baby, I hold their baby, talk to their baby. All while taking a mental assessment of how much posing I can do. I ask who he got his beautiful wavy hair from, or his button nose or long toes. I talk, but not too much to overwhelm anyone. I work gently, efficiently. I capture every single detail. No one wants this. Their child existed. Their child was so loved, and so wanted.”
“I approached the school in a new dress I was so happy about. I felt strong, confident, and absolutely terrified. I made my way to the library for a meeting. All the tables filled, yet no one joined me at mine. Teachers gathered to decide where to go for lunch. I asked if I could join. ‘We’d rather you didn’t.’ Broken, I returned to my classroom, closed the door, and cried.”
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