You Are Not Broken: A Mother’s Day PSA

I want to take a step back today and talk about something that is both very personal and very important to me.

First, I want to address those of you who are happily celebrating Mother’s Day today with your families.

I’m sure that encompasses a great many people. Many of you have loving, supportive homes. Never perfect, of course, but ones that are filled with happy memories and affection. For you, I am glad—truly and truthfully. I hope you share your joy in whatever way you are comfortable and appreciate the gift you have been given.

However, some of you may have friends or acquaintances or even family who are not celebrating today. You may know someone who has not so much as even sent a card to their mother, or called her. I am sure that, for many of you, this seems unthinkable and inconceivable. In a way, I’m glad for that—if you cannot comprehend why that might be, then you have not had to live it.

But please: today, do not shame anyone for not reaching out to their family.

For some of us, Mother’s Day is a lance in our back. Not only are we buried under a barrage of images of loving mothers and happy families in the media, but we invariably have to brace for every casual acquaintance we’ve ever met and their brother to suddenly pop out of the woodwork just to ask,

“Why aren’t you talking to your mother? It’s Mother’s Day, didn’t you know? She gave birth to you. You owe her that much.”

I have responded (for the most part) to these questions with the flat-out truth. If a person feels the need to pry into my personal life, I feel they have opened themselves up to the uncomfortable answer. Continue reading

A New Chapter

There were many things I wanted to say today, but as I sat down, sunburned and more tired than I’ve been in memory, I realized there was only one thing I could truly talk about.

The last month has been a whirlwind for me and mine. After five years of apartment life, we finally were able to settle down in a place where we could call our own.

It’s certainly what you’d call “modest,” if you were being polite. Everything needs at least a little TLC. The yard is mostly comprised of gardens that have been neglected for at least three years, according to the neighbors. I don’t understand whose bright idea it was to carpet the bathrooms (of which, for the first time, we have two). None of the light switches make a lick of sense.

And everything is perfect—in all its maddening, bizarre, and unexpected imperfections.

Because it’s ours. And now, it’s home.

Continue reading