“Hi, my name is Mama and I am tired.”
Do you ever imagine life as, like, the opening act of a big screen support group? No booze. All talk. Just drunk on no sleep, motherhood, and love? Because I do.
I imagine most would share stories with ease, proud of their success and the upwards direction of their lives. Others would relay their story sprinkled with tears, struggle, heartbreak, and loss.
How humbling it would be to see and hear moms in a brutally honest, safe space, unclothing their hardships in a room where it was accepted. Where little ears couldn’t hear.
I imagine how it might feel to stand in a room with people who call you by your name instead of calling you “mama.” What it could feel like to sleep at night instead of living with your demons or rocking your baby? To have a friend, a sponsor? To be one? To talk about it?
To be connected. To anything.
What might it feel like to say “I am struggling” to a room full of people who will say it back? To be a bad mom. To have yelled too loudly far too easily. To make a mistake. To relapse and to still have this community, so loyal to the honest acceptance of life and its challenges, that it would not ever question its members’ missteps.
I imagine myself there standing, watery eyes, messy bun, and yoga pants. The warmth in the room would be palpable at my truth; the booming joy would be contagious as moms clapped in solidarity.
I would be seen in all I’ve overcome in my motherhood, I would be supported in all of the places I am yet to go. Here, you would see just how much moms need other moms—just how much women still and always will need support.
Because we are all recovering from something.
And YOU, you mama are not alone.
Some say that actions speak louder than words, but I would argue that words are really, a very honorable start. So, I want to start this conversation: Hi. My name is Mama and I am tired.
—Wallflower Writing
#detroitmom #momswhowrite
Originally posted at @detroitmoms
My Name is Mama. And I am Tired.
Wallflower Writing 