An Important Distinction

My husband and I are sitting in bed, recounting the day. I jump straight to the point.

“So, I was thinking it would be fun for the girls, if we fostered some kittens during lockdown.”

Faster and more reactionary than a sneeze, “No. No, no way.”

“But it would be temporary and the girls would love it so much.”

In his defense, we have a dog who chases cats, 2 growing tadpoles, 10 newly-hatched butterflies, and 3 daughters under 6.

We went back and forth for a while. But one of his points made me pause.

“I’m worried that you are losing it a little bit. The fact that you think this is a good idea, is actually worrying me.”

Early on during shelter-in-place, a friend of mine with 4 kids under 7 adopted a puppy. I asked her why she felt the urge to add more feces into her life. She immediately played the insanity card.

I didn’t get it then, but I do now.

There is an important distinction to be made:

You cannot be placed in the insanity pool, if you willingly dive in.

I posted the following on a Mom’s Group Facebook page—being in AA, I’m no stranger to the healing nature of seeking support through strangers with similar struggles. Yes, I have a network of family and friends I am able to reach out to—however what’s exceptionally challenging about this time, is our inability to embrace one another. I stand just over 6-feet tall. Never did I ever think I’d have to use my own body as a measuring device to keep me separated from those I love. I have kept this distance from my own mom, even after the passing of my grandad, her father. Kneeled 6-feet from my best friend, as she endured a miscarriage. I am rendered helpless; unable to comfort either of them with anything but words. Even for me, words aren’t enough.

Sometimes by sharing out into the void, we can let down our defenses without expectation or agenda.

And so I shared this:

There were 3.8K likes and over 800 comments from women sharing the ways they are overwhelmed and various locations they choose to cry regularly, unabashedly or alone.

The explanation is simple:

Right now, mothers everywhere are not OK.

There, I said it.

We aren’t throwing in the towel, complaining, or presenting a problem asking for a solution—this too is an important distinction. The raw sentiments shared, had nothing to do with comparing war wounds; labeling someone’s experience or ranking sacrifices. Simply hundreds upon hundreds of mothers acknowledging their pain with no place to put it.

These past months have presented us with uncomfortable feelings of powerlessness and relinquishing control. Our lives are already upside down—whether it’s fostering kittens or crying in my car alone; these are at least things I am choosing. And right now, I am intentionally choosing to bring some joy into our house.  

There is power in admitting vulnerability and strength in solidarity.

As a collective we said,

“I know these feelings—we share them. We can carry this load together.”

These beautiful strangers and I, we didn’t try to solve this unsolvable problem, we simply acknowledged its existence, in order to allow ourselves grace.

Of course, we will rise from the closet floor and probably grab a laundry basket on our way out, because mothers are capable of all things, that’s just what we do.