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There’s moments where I can stand up big and tall. There’s moments where I’m strong, maybe even strong enough to hold together someone who needs to be weak. There’s moments that I handle pretty well and I’m proud of myself.

Today, I’ve had none of these. I walked away from my daughters bus this morning, crumpled into my front seat and felt so small that I could just dissipate into the air surrounding me. I wasn’t strong, not even a little. My weakness was on full display. I didn’t handle it well, I didn’t handle it at all.

I couldn’t even pull my hands away from my face, I was crying so hard. I tried calling Jon and it went to voicemail, which made me cry harder. I grabbed a single napkin out of my glove box to wipe my tears and stream of mascara, and then reached for a few more because, well, who was I kidding. I was a mess.

I drove to work and as I pulled into my parking space my phone rang. Jon called back. He spoke his sweet words and filled my ear full of encouragement and promises that I, in fact, was not totally failing at being a parent (although the jury is still out on that one.) And then I pulled myself together enough to walk inside. That was 2 hours ago and I’m still sitting here stewing, holding back what would inevitably be a very embarrassing break down. I feel defeated.

And there’s no epiphany in these words…no sudden realization of what I am to do next and how, I finally understand how to be a perfect mother. Nope. Just my guts spilling out because, well, that’s what I felt like doing.

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