mothers

“I’m 28, raising four kids, in my mother’s house.”

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything. A long while. It’s not that I didn’t have anything to talk about. I’ve just been “too busy” to sit down and free my mind of all of the things it’s been occupied with as of late. It’s funny I say that because I hate that. Too busy? Why? What am I doing? Mostly trying to figure out how to function at a frequency that this place seems to want us to vibe on. Nope.

A few weeks ago, my friend was celebrating her birthday at a nightclub, and I had arrived really late, but the important thing was that I was there, right? Right. I was having a good time; my friend was really happy to see me, so.. the night was as usual as it could be.

I remember asking this woman for a lighter so my friend could light her smoke, but this woman looked… Run. Down. I had returned her lighter and asked why she wasn’t dancing like nobody’s business. She looked at me for a minute before she sighed and shrugged her shoulders. I told her it was a good night… she was alive, and there was good music, she should just dance. And she took my arm and said “I’m 28. I’m 28, and I have 4 kids at home.” I told her that was amazing. And she shook her head, “No, I’m fucking 28 and I’ve four kids and I live with my mother.” She looked incredibly disappointed and sad. Like the world had made her believe her life was something to feel embarrassed about. I told her it was an incredible thing that she was raising four kids, when I can barely take care of myself, and that being 28 shouldn’t make her feel any type of way. 28 is the new 18! The fact that she was able to have a space to keep her kids fed and clothed — that’s an insane accomplishment. There are kids who aren’t so fortunate, who wouldn’t have parents putting their lives first because they would be out partying all night, every night, or outright abandoning their kids. Nobody knows her circumstances but herself, and there’s no reason for her journey to be questioned or invalidated because of some imaginary timeline constructed by arbitrary societal pressures.

She high-fived me, gave me a hug, and said “You’re right! Fuck. You know what? You’re right.. it is the new 18! I am hard-working.. I’m trying everyday!”

You are. There are so many of us trying every single day, and we don’t need the expectations of a society to measure our successes and failures.

I’m a fucking snail. I’ll get where I need to be at my own pace. Don’t compare yourself to others. Your journey is not their journey and vice versa. Just acknowledge the efforts you make every day, and be grateful for the things you have. The rest will follow.

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