Grab your buckets and find the flames


This is motherhood to me.
 
This is the beauty and brokenness of Mother’s Day.
This is the real, unspoken ‘can we be honest’ version.
Not flowers, not brunch, not presents.
 
I believe motherhood and everything it touches is about carrying the buckets.
 
Women carrying around buckets of water, ready to show up and love each other and say important things like …
 
I know this hurts
This isn’t fair
It’s not your fault
You didn’t deserve that
I know you’re tired
Guilt is real
I’m sorry
I’m angry with you
You can do this
Take the meds
I’ll watch them while you sleep
I know you miss her
I know you miss him
I’m here
Eat something
It’s okay to be angry
I’m pissed with you
I think you need to talk to someone
You’re not screwing them up
You’re doing the best you can
You’re the hero
I’m coming over
I’m coming over (again at 3 am)
You’re stronger than you think
This didn’t happen for a reason
You are not broken
This is not your fault
You are a warrior
You are brave
I’m here no matter what
 
WE are the greatest gifts we can give each other. We are the ones who know, who ache, who rage, who rejoice, who celebrate. We are the ones we need.
 
Find the women who need your story so they know it’s not just them and they can feel a little less lonely. Find the women who need to see your wounds so they can know a path through the pain.
 
How do you find the women? You look for the flames.
 
We are wise, smart and observant. Don't look away. Keep your eyes open and your hearts to the ground. Be brave and start conversations. Check in. Let her know you’re there.
 
Over the past six years as I’ve sat and talked with hundreds upon hundreds of you and listened to your stories and learned your truths and laughed with you and cried with you and felt your anger and witnessed your happiness, there is only one overwhelming truth about motherhood:
 
It is a collision of joy and grief.
 
The very thing you are celebrating is the very thing another woman is grieving. So then, the bravest thing we can collectively do is love each other through it.
 
And we keep carrying the buckets.


Your pain lets another woman know she’s not alone in hers.
 
Your anger lets another woman know she’s allowed to feel hers.
 
Your sadness lets another woman know it’s normal to feel hers.
 
Your joy lets another woman know it’s okay to hope.
 
Your brokenness lets another woman know she doesn’t need fixing.
 
Your exhaustion lets another woman know it’s okay to rest.
 
Your guilt lets another woman know she doesn’t have to pretend.
 
You take the thing that almost burned you down and you let it become your way of finding the woman who is still on fire.
 
You fill your bucket, you find the flames, you hunt down the smoke, and you carry the water to her. You bring your story to her feet and you lay it down and you let her know she’s not alone.
 
We celebrate our joy.
We revel in our blessings.
We rejoice in our gifts.
 
And then we grab the buckets.
 
And if you are not ready for your flames to be extinguished – if you still rage with fury and anger — then we’ll stand vigil, block the winds and let you rage.
 
We are here for you.
 
I am here for you, and you are not alone.
 
With so much love,
Mel