I’m here to deliver a public service announcement that is going to piss some of you off. Trust me when I say that I share this opinion without judgement because it is something I am working on too. It's not a complaint, but an encouragement shared with love.

Mommas, when people ask how you are, or wonder what’s new in your life, stop telling them about your children.

I know it sounds harsh. But girl, you are more than just a momma. Though your babies are pieces of your soul walking free within this world, you are an entirely separate being. You are a gorgeous, intelligent woman. When people ask, they want to know about you and you are worthy of having your own answer.

I can’t tell you how many times I have called to connect with a girlfriend who proceeds to tell me about her children’s busy schedule, triumphs, and struggles. And I get it. I really do. As mommas, we bleed with our children, laugh with them, absorb their pain, and relish in their joy. I remember a time when I felt my life was not my own. From morning until bedtime, my schedule revolved around meals, naptimes, and playdates. It’s a difficult season.

Our children are of us, but they are not wholly us. We deserve to have our own feelings and experiences to share. 

Thank you for filling me in on your family happenings, but sweetheart, how are you? Does the constant chauffeuring stress you out? Are you exhausted and unshowered and overwhelmed? Are you joyfully cherishing each milestone? Are you unsure of how to fill newfound freedom? Are you dreaming of days when you can get back to being you?

Sometimes the demands of motherhood make us feel invisible. It’s thankless work--the millions of small tasks we perform daily to keep our families afloat. Much of our dedication goes unnoticed. When we arrive at family functions, the faces of grandparents, aunts and uncles light up upon seeing our kids, arms open and love flowing, while the mommas receive a quick peck on the cheek and perfunctory greeting. I am here too, you know.

So when someone takes a moment to check in, stop making yourself invisible! Stop hiding behind your children and step into your own individuality. Tell them how you are really feeling. Tell them about your day. Your struggles. Your successes.

And, while I am clearly on a roll with this ranting PSA, let’s revolutionize the way we greet people. “How are you?” is such a thoughtless question, one which really doesn’t invite an honest answer.

What percentage of humans who respond with “I’m fine” are actually fine? Fine is synonymous with “I don’t want to tell you the truth” or “I’m afraid you’d judge me if I told you how I was really feeling” or “You don’t truly want to know”.

This social interaction is so performative that it has lost its ability to foster meaningful human connection. There’s got to be a better way!

I challenge all women to remove the word “fine” from your vocabulary. Get creative. Get honest. Get brave in your answer.

And, can we go even further by asking a more well intentioned question?
“What brought you joy today?”
“How’s your stress level today?”
“Tell me about your morning.”
“What goals do you have right now?”
“What’s challenging you?”
 
Momma, I already know that you are dedicating your heart to raising amazing human beings. I already know that your days are selfless, that you doubt yourself, and that you lose sleep worrying about your family. I see you. I know you. I am you.
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Instead, tell me what excites you and lights your inner fire.
I really, truly want to know. 

I think about death a lot.

I can picture myself as a little girl tucked in bed at night, speaking aloud to the Universe—not knowing exactly what was out there, but needing to believe in a higher power. “Please protect my mommy and my daddy and my sister and my brother.” I still make these nightly prayers, but the blanket of protection has grown larger. “Please protect my parents, my spouse, my children…”

Funnily enough, I am completely at peace with the idea of my own death. If I were to die tomorrow, I know for sure that people have felt my love and my loyalty. I have been fortunate enough to experience passionate love, traveled a bit, done my best to raise excellent humans, and made an impact professionally. I can go at any time and feel nothing but gratitude for the time I was given here on Earth.

What terrifies me is the thought of someone I love passing away and leaving me in the dark wake of loss and despair.

I’m sharing this with you to set the scene for the drama that played out in my home last night.

I was jarred awake by the sound of my doorbell and an aggressive pounding on the front door. As my eyeballs adjusted and read 11:49 on the clock, I noticed a white light flashing through my bedroom window. Jumping out of bed, I peeked through the blinds to see two police cars parked in front of my house.

What the fuck?

Immediately, my mind took inventory of my family. Husband? Still in bed, totally oblivious to the chaos. (Men could sleep through an apocalypse! The sky could be falling and the ground caving in around us and they would remain blissfully in Dreamland. My husband would wake up to the end of the world and be like, “Dude, what did I miss?) I digress.

My youngest son? Asleep in bed. Stepson? Asleep on the bottom bunk. Oldest son? Not home.

Fuck.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I threw a blanket around my shoulders (because nobody wants to have the door opened by a panicky middle-aged woman in her nighttime panties.) and sprinted down the stairs.

I paused for a moment before opening the door. Breathe, Kel. Brace yourself.

Two very large police men were standing on my porch. I turned to look at my husband as he lazily made his way down the stairs, hair askew and brain not fully turned on yet. Why didn’t he feel the weight of the moment, oppressed by the stillness of the air as our lives were about to change?

“Sorry to bother you so late,” Policeman #1 apologized.

Policeman #2 explained, “An electric scooter has been stolen and the app is tracking it directly to your house.”

My constriction in my chest relaxed as I exhaled audibly. Thank all the Gods! And also, seriously??!!!

“Do you have children?” #1 inquired. “We’d like to talk to them.”

Knowing full well that the boys weren’t involved, but not wanting to be the mom who immediately went on the defense with, “Well, my child would never…” I asked the police to wait as I rousted my teenage children out of bed.

(If I’m being fully truthful, a wicked little part of me was entertained by the boys’ stunned faces as I announced, “The police are here. They want to talk to you.” Cruel, I know.)

Long story short, the scooter was not hidden in my garage, nor in my backyard. Thankfully my children did not turn out to be thieves. This time.

As I closed the door to my bedroom following this midnight drama, relief flooded my body like a tidal wave and I sobbed. The nocturnal knock on my door was not the news I was dreading—that my child had died in the night while I slept comfortably in my home. He was safe. We were all safe.

The stress-tears which leaked from my eyeballs were soon replaced by tears of deep sorrow. Death was not part of my story that night, but for many people, that midnight doorbell ushers in a heart stopping new reality. Their lives are forever divided by the moments before and after they open the door.

Earlier in the week, news of a car accident which occurred on the highway near my home spread within our community. A mother and child killed upon impact. The second child airlifted to hospital in critical condition. That father would have opened the door to utter despair. My heart ached for him as I cried.

Bless the police who have to share the news of death and tragedy. Bless them for sitting with families and witnessing the worse moment of their lives. Bless them for honouring the families with grace, and holding space for grief and shock.
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It took me a long time to fall asleep last night. I added to my prayers. “Please protect my parents, my spouse, my children and care for those who did not get as lucky as I did tonight.”