A couple days ago I wrote a post called Moms Tell Me to Drink. It resonated with a lot of people and I stand by the stance that we should continue to consider our roles in promoting a potentially damaging culture when I think most of us are simply trying to support one another with humour and self-forgiveness. However, in that blog post, I neglected to mention another fact, that moms carry me forward, too.
Moms drag me to sweaty yoga studios and fill me up with so much joy I have to reach across mats to drag them into hugs. Moms text me grown-up lullabies, I heard this and thought of you. Moms take me dancing, sans drink in hand. Moms love my children, and trust me with theirs. Moms support my marriage and talk me down from ledges. Moms send me book recommendations and read my own first chapters. Moms remind me to sleep. Moms tell me to stop apologizing for making a change: I never loved you because we drank, Katie. I love you because you’re my friend. Moms stock my fridge with San Pellegrino and find the best coffee beans. Moms support my sobriety and they’re not scared to say that out loud.
Moms read and like and share my posts. Moms send me private messages, telling me to carry on. Some moms comment that they shoulder the same struggles and some moms comment that they don’t, but that they hear me and they care. Moms tell me when they’ve seen my work in random places and they share my excitement, soothe my fear. Moms take photos of my stories and pass them along.
Moms I don’t even know try to protect me on forums: This is interesting (let’s not attack the author). Moms on those forums agree and disagree with me in the most tender ways, offering understanding and tolerance and their own vulnerability.
Moms hold me
And mother me
and sister me
and lift me up.
And moms, we don’t love perfectly.
But we sure as hell love with all we’ve got.
So thanks, Moms.
Onward we march.