By Shannon E. Franklin

Wellness as a concept is hard to define. Everyone will have a different idea about exactly what it is. For me, the word conjures up images of big green salads, stretching and yoga, and meditation. It includes, perhaps, therapy to address mental health and going to the doctor on a regular schedule to be proactive about your physical health.

All of those things are important, but I’d like to suggest that—especially as a WAHM (work-at-home mom)—the concept of wellness should include a little, dare I say, indulgence.

One evening when my son was a few weeks old, I was struck with a ridiculous craving for a hot dog. I had to order groceries anyway (life hack: grocery delivery is a life-saver for a new mom) so I was sure to add hot dogs to my cart. Later that night, when everyone was sleeping, I stood in my kitchen and prepared my franks. I placed them on toasted potato buns, loaded them up with my toppings, and devoured them with a slight smile on my face.

The next morning, my mother-in-law, who was visiting, asked what I had eaten for dinner. “A couple of hot dogs,” I responded absently. “A couple of hot dogs? Who ever heard of a breastfeeding mother eating hot dogs?!” she replied in dismay. Instead of saying, “That’s what I wanted so that’s what I ate,” I stayed silent because I immediately felt guilty and embarrassed for not making a better choice.

But why was that a “bad” choice? After months of carefully watching what I ate and following all the rules while pregnant, what was wrong with giving in to my hot dog craving? Ok, I admit that even though I chose the uncured, all-natural, preservative- and nitrate-free, organic beef hot dogs, they weren’t the healthiest meal. But it’s not like I was training for this.

My mother-in-law has a beautiful spirit and is a lovely woman. I know that she was only concerned that I kept myself well nourished during those chaotic early days at home with a new infant. She didn’t mean to shame me, but the downward spiral of irrational “mom guilt” had already taken hold. I messed up. I thought of only myself in that moment and not my sweet little boy, who would get his first taste of hot dogs at his next feeding. I would probably ruin his taste buds for life, and instead of being a broccoli-loving angel, he would grow up to be a junk-food-loving freak with a penchant for salty, processed meats. What had I done?

As mothers, as women, we’ve internalized that we are always supposed to take care of everything and everyone else. Our role is so often focused on what other people expect from us that just doing what we want from time to time is seen almost as a revolutionary act. When we actually give in to what we desire, for better or worse, we are almost always judged. Yet denying what we truly want leads to unhappiness and dissatisfaction, which surely affects our emotional and mental health. If our job is to show up for our families, we should show up wholly, not as shells of who we were in the years BC (before children).

Drop what you think you should be doing, and incorporate more of what you want and need for yourself—in moderation, of course. By no means am I suggesting you ditch the Iceberg for ice cream and binge on Netflix while the kids run wild and your inbox fills up. What I am advocating, though, is that we create space to enjoy the things and moments in our lives that are all about us, and no one else.

This goes beyond the everyday basics of making time to shower and eat while you’re busy and your mind is buzzing with approximately 5,137 other tasks. As we approach our own wellness, we should consider the things (independent of our kids and families) that bring us joy, pleasure and personal satisfaction, and then do them, even when they don’t align with the expectations others have placed on us.

Now some people do find joy, pleasure and satisfaction in discipline, or waking up early, eating healthy and going to the gym. That’s wonderful. Others might find it indulgent to take an art class, go on a girls’ trip, or read a book in solitude. As long as your selected activity isn’t destructive to yourself or your family, indulge however you see fit.

Some might argue that all of this is just about self-care, which is true. However, depending on how long you’ve been routinely deprioritizing your own desires, simple self-care can feel like indulgence. It doesn’t matter what you call it, just take the time to listen to your inner self, then give her exactly what she wants and don’t make her wait.

By MJ Ali

I grew up around strong women. The youngest of four girls, I was free, like my sisters, to explore wherever my imagination took me. My idea of playing with dolls was to conduct experiments with one of the hyper-feminized toys we’d been given by relatives and see if she could survive in extreme conditions with those permanently arched feet (adjustable ankles weren’t introduced until 2015). These experiments were repeated with the same results: Barbie either got voted off the island or met a horrible fate.

As an adult, I became fast friends with a colleague while working with homeless teens in Albany, New York. A towering woman over 6 feet tall, she oversaw a lot of the programs in the Capitol at the time. She was always dressed impeccably in NYC business, and always with pencil-thin stilettos mirroring her equally thin, twenty-foot-long legs. I always saw her as powerful, despite her choice in everyday shoes.

One winter afternoon, we stepped outside to walk to a nearby restaurant for lunch. I was about to ask her how she could navigate the snow and ice with those shoes when she stabbed her way across an icy patch on the sidewalk with the precision of an expert mountain climber. She looked back at me as if to wordlessly answer my unasked question. During lunch, she explained that she had worn stilettos for so long that it altered her musculature and she couldn’t wear anything else comfortably any more.

She also shared how she used those heels as a weapon to fend off an attacker. She pondered that, ironically, she may have been targeted in the first place because she was wearing high heels and the assailant assumed she was easy prey.

This is a false assumption predicated on the mistaken belief that women actually do something to incite violent behavior, as though it’s just the nature of the beast and can’t be helped.

That’s our default mindset. We assume it’s something we did, something we wore, or a behavior we could have changed to avoid being assaulted. This is an age-old myth that has served only to keep women in “prey” mode, which is far more crippling than a pair of 6-inch stilettos. It’s also what keeps so many women from reporting an assault. Every time friends and family ask “what were you wearing?” or “what were you doing in that area that late?” it lowers those statistics even more.

It took multiple incidents at different times in my life before I finally reported an assault, despite having been raised around strong women. Reporting a crime against your own body and mind is not an easy thing to do, and often still not something well supported by the judicial system itself. It takes courage, strength, and the support of friends, family and advocates.

Support is vital, but the way I started to move forward came from within. It was a change in energy when a stranger decided to harass me the first time I gathered enough courage to go out in public with evidence of assault still visible. I was alone and terrified, but I experienced a breaking point that brought something out in me that was always there. I fought back energetically, verbally, attitudinally. It was like a superhero-like wave that literally repelled my would-be attacker backwards as though I’d physically pushed him. In a very real sense, I switched from prey mindset to predator mindset. This allowed me to take my first step forward in my own healing process.

In the moment, it is ultimately up to each and every one of us to protect ourselves with our own bodies, minds and spirits. Luckily, I know that each and every one of us has that ability inside. I’ve had friends who were wheelchair users who found the same mindset when confronted with those who sought to take advantage. Their energetic switch from prey to predator mindset turned their would-be attacker into a runner.

What do you do when you see someone being harassed? It’s a terrifying thing to go through, and when people stand by and do nothing, it amplifies that fear. When we do nothing, it’s almost worse than the person doing the harassing. It’s actually not a good idea to confront the person who is harassing, but it is a good idea to connect with the person being harassed. Want to know how? Click here.

Resources:

Trauma Survivors Network

NCADV Resources

Own Your Moment with Sharon Muse (woman-centered self-protection mindset)

ESD Global (Empowerment Self-Defense – holistic, feminist, inclusive approach)

Fuzzy Slippers: How to Do Self-Care as a Trauma Survivor

Recovering from Rape and Sexual Trauma

Overcoming Fear (“Fierce Medicine” by Ana T. Forrest)

The Healing Journey

By Ana Lewis

Every year, on March 8th, we celebrate International Women’s Day (IWD). When we full-on ran our community website, womenontheverge.net, this would be our busiest, highest web traffic day of the year. And every single year, we would get hacked on this very day. One year it got so bad, we got 86’d from our web host provider because we took down the entire server bank.

Yes, we did get a lot of attention on IWD, mostly due to the fact that we were a global, inclusive, supportive community for women. But IWD also got us on Marie Claire and kiva.org as micro lenders for women business owners worldwide. (NOTE: Anyone can become a micro lender at kiva.org and we encourage you to do it, too. It’s extremely easy to open an account and start lending right away. If you have $25, you can loan that over and over again.)

We averaged about two million hits per month, so we were already using tons of bandwidth, but IWD was extra special.

I often asked myself why we were so vulnerable to attack. Were we, as an online women’s community, indicative of how vulnerable women are in real life?

My research tells me that this may very well be the case. We, as individual women and organizations that support and aid women internationally, are under attack (and fighting back):

Planned Parenthood

Founded in 1916 on the revolutionary idea that women should have the information and care they need to live strong, healthy lives and fulfill their dreams — no ceilings, no limits. They now have to have a specific website based on the attacks that they have had on basic funding.

Violence Against Women Defending Human Rights

According to the UN News, in 2017, Front Line Defenders recorded that 44 women human rights defenders were killed. Moreover, sexual violence, defamation and intimidation, including against their family members, are being used as a deterrent.

VDAY

According to the United Nations, one of every three women on the planet will be physically or sexually abused in her lifetime. These attacks inspired the non-profit V-Day—a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls.

WMC Women Under Siege

If you really want to dive deep into the problem, take a look at Women’s Media Center Women Under Siege. This will illustrate just how rampant this problem is. It also has many inspiring articles about women all around the globe who are finding brilliant ways to combat and transcend obstacles and oppression.

Me Too Movement

#MeToo held 201 men in power accountable; nearly half of their replacements are women.

15 Organizations Helping Women Around the World

Mentalfloss provided a comprehensive list last year on IWD that still holds today. From Legal defense to donating business clothes that help women dress for success, this list has something for everyone wanting to get involved on any level.

What I believe is if we all do our part to support and honor our sisters and realize—with eyes wide open—that we can make a difference, there’s nothing we can’t accomplish.

To quote the quintessential Maya Angelou:

Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash

By Abigail Edwards

She walks a road that winds have weathered and lonely sands have torn

Some pass her by, assuming a mirage in summer morn

Some see flaws in her porcelain shell and offer pity, counsel, glue

And she, the porcelain diamond, welcomes all but embraces few

Her eyes are glass, reflecting sands she’s seen and winds she’s born

Some seek her out for counsel and lifting words from things forlorn

She speaks sweetly, her wisdom free for all who care to listen

Her lips are cracked but they can trust that every word will glisten

The sand wears down her hands and feet; they cannot always hold

Yet those who come beside her when they’re lost will find no cold

Her ears are always open and her shoulder’s there to lean

She bears their troubles with her own and sees no difference between

The winds sweep harsh along her shell and pieces of her fly

Yet she holds herself with honor and with peace; she does not lie

Her truth, sincerity and heart are always on her sleeve

Her friends are welcome to them, even friends who choose to leave

Along her road she crosses paths with those who care to clash

She maintains wisdom, kindness, truth as balms to soothe the brash

She sees, she hears, she reaches out and gives all sides attention

And with her earnest guidance they are drawn from their dissension

Photo by Mustafa Omar on Unsplash

By Shannon E. Franklin

When we found out I was pregnant, we decided to be simultaneously revolutionary and old-fashioned by not finding out the sex of our baby before it was born. We wanted to squeeze as much magic out of those months as possible, and not knowing was fun and exciting for us. We had a list of names for boys, girls, and a list of gender-neutral names. Our families had their hopes — the women wanted a girl, the men wanted a boy (so predictable). They begged us to let them secretly find out the sex of the baby so they would know what to buy. This was one thing we were specifically trying to avoid: our baby immediately being forced to conform to society’s gender roles the minute it escaped from my womb.

“That’s a girl!” declared a happy stranger on the train. “Oh my, you’re having a girl… and a Pisces!” a man told me, on the elevator at work. My mom and Grandma would say, “Oh, just give us a girl, Shannon,” to which I’d respond, “You know I literally have no control over that, right?”

I told everyone I just wanted “a healthy, happy baby” but my deep, dark secret was that I hoped for a boy. After a few months, though, the words of my family and strangers started to creep into my head and I began to believe that I would give birth to a daughter. My partner and I settled on the most beautiful name for a little girl, and I practiced saying it. Even though I had a dream, one night, of a baby boy swimming in clear, blue water, I prepared myself to be a woman my daughter could be proud of.

“The world is hard for a Black woman,” I would think to myself. But, at least I knew what to do. I would teach her the lessons from my own experiences, plus all the other things I would want her to know.

I started to make a mental list of Lessons for my Daughter:

I would teach her that she has a voice. She should use it to advocate for herself and for those who cannot do it for themselves.

That sometimes the “right” thing is the hard, unpopular thing. But she should do it anyway.

I would tell her that women don’t have to dress a certain way, or wear make-up to be beautiful, but if they do, they do it for themselves because they enjoy it –not because it’s required and certainly not for men (do they even know the difference between an orange-red and a blue-red lipstick?! Puh-lease!)

Looking good is fun, but feeling good is what really matters. Protect your mental, physical and emotional health.

I would teach her that women come in all shapes and sizes, and the uniqueness in body types is to be celebrated.

I would teach her that a woman’s body is her own, and belongs to no one but her.

She can say no as often as she wants. She can say yes as often as she wants. And she is free to change her mind about either, at any time.

A woman should live her life on her own terms, free from what society traditionally says is “acceptable.” The only expectations she should strive to live up to are her own.

She should know that women don’t have to behave in a particular way, nor do men. She should exist in the world however she feels most comfortable and most natural.

I would make sure she knows that she has her own mind, and while others’ opinions and thoughts can be valued, considered, and appreciated, they do not control her.

As a Black woman, she will be labeled all kinds of things. She’ll be called aggressive when she’s being assertive, angry when she’s passionate, and intimidating or difficult when she challenges someone. She’ll do her very best, and it still won’t be good enough for some people. Those people are not worthy of her best.

Because of the skin she’s in, she’ll be treated unfairly, and badly, more often than it seems believable. But how people treat her says more about them than her.

Because of her skin, people will want her to play small, and treat her less than. She should not let them.

A woman should know when a situation no longer serves her, and not feel bad about making the decision to leave.

It’s ok to be happy. It’s ok to love and be in love.

It’s also ok to be angry, sad, or disappointed. All feelings are valid.

It’s ok to be vulnerable or sensitive. She doesn’t have to be strong all the time, for anyone.

I would want her to know that it’s important to be authentic. True to herself. And honest – with herself and with others.

Finally, the day came.

After 74 hours of labor, delirious and exhausted, I heard the doctor say, “What’s up, little dude?”

“It’s a boy?!”

I cried happy tears as they placed our son on my chest.

Once we were home for a few weeks and our new normal was starting to become established, my mind floated back to the lessons I had for my daughter. “I guess I need to rethink this whole thing,” I said to myself. But then it hit me – the lessons for my son would be exactly the same.

Everything I would teach my daughter about being a woman are the very things I want my son to internalize about women, and all of the lessons still apply. I recognize that Black men have their own challenges in this world, so this is by no means a comprehensive list. It is, however, a place to start in raising a conscientious, emotionally intelligent boy into a man who is an ally to women.

Photo by Ishan @seefromthesky on Unsplash

By MJ Ali

I’m driving down an alley looking at the dozens of overflowing city trash bins and having one of those existential panic attacks while multiplying those bins by hundreds, thousands, millions…

…breathe.

But what am I breathing in? What is that smell and that smell and have we really become so numb that we don’t even think about what we throw out walk on breathe in?

…breathe (anyway).

The concept of how much trash we produce in a day is too much for our brains to grasp. In fact, it’s so overwhelming that many people just choose not to think about it. After all, what can one person do?

ONE PERSON CAN BE A CATALYST FOR CHANGE

When I worked with homeless teens in an independent living program, one of their daily responsibilities was to make sure everything that could be recycled was ending up in the right bin. There was one for metal, one for glass, and one for plastic. The city placed them into separate sections in the truck to bring them to the recycling facility. At least, that’s what we were told.

One of the teens happened to see a recycle truck worker dump all three bins into one big section, and she went on a recycling strike. “Why should I bother if the city is just going to lie to us and make us think we’re recycling?”

But instead of giving up, this homeless 16-year-old mom decided to confront city officials and demand they be more transparent and accountable about their recycling practices. “I’m following through on my responsibilities, and I expect my city to do the same. Not just for me, but for my child.”

This issue went viral (pre-social media, so… wow). It took two years, but policies and practices did change. (Thank you, K.D.!)

SO WHERE DOES OUR RECYCLING GO?

This Reading Rainbow episode shows in six minutes what happens to our recycled material. LeVar Burton has always had a gift for making any topic exciting, interesting and positive, and this six-minute episode is no exception.

THINKING OUTSIDE THE (CARDBOARD) BOX

I hate throwing out Styrofoam. I searched for solutions over the years, and finally found (why doesn’t city recycling list this as a resource on their site?) a company that specializes in recycling Styrofoam and other foam products. So, I’ve started saving up my foam products and will take it to their facility each month, along with my neighbor’s and landlords’ foam.

WANT TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE? START WITH SOMETHING EASY.

Plastic shopping bags really do kill. These plastic statistics outline the severity of the problem we’ve created–and can remedy. Do you still shop using the store’s plastic shopping bags? Many shopping centers have recycling stations for plastic bags. Save them up and drop them off on your next shopping trip. If you won’t do that, at least reuse and repurpose them to delay their entry into the ecosystem.

If you’ve convinced yourself you absolutely cannot give up those single-use plastic water bottles, save them up and recycle them. Every town and city has a recycling program you pay for with your own tax dollars, so start using this invaluable resource.

If each of us did just one thing—recycle one plastic bottle, one cardboard box, one glass jar—we’d save countless tons of garbage from our landfills and oceans. And if you believe it doesn’t affect you, think again. Our oceans are a vital part of our ecosystem; we can’t sustain life on this planet without them.

4ocean was started by two surfers on a surf trip in Bali. Devastated by the amount of plastic in the ocean, they decided to do something about it. The company has created its own ocean-saving business ecosystem with local fishermen and many others, creating jobs and tackling head-on what is literally a deadly issue in our oceans. It has become a global movement. “In less than two years, 4ocean has removed 4,097,090 pounds of trash from the ocean and coastlines.”

$20 gets you a cool bracelet made from 100% recycled material. And, that donation also funds the removal of one pound of plastic from the ocean and coastlines.

Changing habits starts with looking at what we’re doing, both in our homes and in our businesses.
If you really believe you can’t afford less than two minutes a day to recycle, I guarantee you can’t afford not to.

Changing just one thing is a lot easier than you think, and makes a world of difference. Literally.

By Ana Lewis

“Oh, I tried being a vegetarian, but it’s too hard.” This is a statement I have heard so many times I can’t even count. I am here to tell you:

• It’s not that hard
• It helps clean up the environment inside your body
• It helps clean up the environment outside of your body

It’s not that hard

The biggest obstacle for many people is trying to eat at a restaurant. Thankfully, more restaurants are offering plant-based options for diners, so it is easier now than it used to be, but this is how I can enter any restaurant in the world and still get a meal.

• Make it easier on yourself BEFORE you enter a restaurant. Download groovy apps to help you find plant-based-friendly restaurants. I use Vanilla Bean everywhere I go.
• If you are at a restaurant that you didn’t choose, first scan the menu. Sometimes you can order directly from something that has a “V” next to it.
• If nothing is on the menu that you want to eat, see if there is anything that you can easily alter, such as ordering a vegetarian item with no eggs or dairy (even in the dressing). (I have ordered even pizza this way!)
• If you still have nothing that will work, go to the side dishes and/or appetizers. Many times you can get a hummus, delicious roasted veggies and even buffalo cauliflower off one of these menus, and craft yourself a meal out of that.
• Most of all, don’t be afraid to speak out on your own behalf. You don’t have to tell a server your life story, you can simply say you don’t like something. “I don’t like cheese, can I order that veggie burrito without it?” Most servers and chefs won’t mind at all.
• Worse case scenario, go to the grocery store, grab some fresh fruits, veggies and nuts, and eat before you eat. Yeah, many times I have had to eat before I eat. Takes the pressure off.

It helps clean up the environment inside your body

• It’s not news when we state that humans who eat more plants live healthier lives. This has been well-documented in The China Study, by T. Colin Campbell, the most comprehensive study of nutrition ever conducted and the implications for long-term health.
• The study of the Blue Zones, specifies cultures around the world where people have the most healthful longevity (90-100+ years old). The five blue zones are as follows: The Italian island of Sardinia; Okinawa, Japan; Loma Linda, California; Costa Rica’s isolated Nicoya Peninsula; and Ikaria, an isolated Greek island. It’s all about lifestyle in the blue zones, which includes lots of whole-foods, plant-based eating, movement and socializing with family and friends… and drinking wine (woohoo!).
• The documentary Forks Over Knives showcases how whole-foods, plant-based eating helps you reverse disease in the body, naturally lose weight and change your entire life through lifestyle changes alone.

It helps clean up the environment outside of your body

• Can I shoot straight on this? Cow burps. Ruminants’ burps account for 95% of their methane emissions, which contribute to the methane gas being released into the atmosphere.
  
• The amount of water required to raise livestock takes it toll worldwide.
• Plant-based eating conserves water.
• Growing plants cleans the air. Through photosynthesis, they convert the carbon dioxide we exhale into fresh oxygen, and they can also remove toxins from the air we breathe.

Eating whole-plant-based foods is not only delicious, it’s better for you and the environment. Sometimes it seems overwhelming to consider it as a whole lifestyle change, but perhaps starting out small, with a one-day-per-week commitment to yourself. Our family has celebrated Meatless Mondays for years, and everyone chooses to participate.

By Abigail Edwards

Along the shore I sink my toes

The ultimate boundary line

I overstep the rubble and waste

Among the bubbles and brine

The waters flow unceasingly

Sweeping soft along the sand

Without complaint accepting us

And what we leave on land

It takes our refuse quietly

Gathering in its foam

A voiceless servant left to clean

Long after we’ve gone home

Yet as it bears our burdens

Hope still whispers in the kelp

That one might turn an unblind eye

And bend to offer help

“I’m here, old friend,”

One whispers as they take what lies adrift

“I’m sorry that it took so long,

And thank you for your gift.”

– A tribute to the waters of Oceanside, my home away from home

By Shannon E. Franklin

One aspect of parenting I really wasn’t ready for was the number of times in a day that I’m humbled to realize how little control we have over what happens in our children’s lives. Even when I’ve cleared the floor of all obstacles and outfitted his tiny feet with his no-slip socks, our son still manages to take a tumble and bump his head every so often.

I won’t be able to shield him when a classmate hurts his feelings for the first time, or when he feels the ache of his first heartbreak, or any of the other inevitable “firsts” that can cause pain or disappointment. I know these are a natural part of life and hopefully, we’ll instill the emotional tools to help him manage the “downs” as well as he celebrates the “ups” as he grows. I feel somewhat confident that his dad and I, along with our amazing network of family and friends, will be able to arm our son with the love, support and guidance he needs to make it in the world.

As parents, we do what we can to teach our kids what we know and give them what they need to survive on their own. The rest we leave up to hopes, prayers, luck, and—if it fits with your beliefs—divine guidance.

There is one thing about which I can’t seem to shake a gnawing sense of guilt, because it’s something that no one can really prepare him for—the imminent and devastating effects of climate change.

Am I being too dramatic? I’m not sure. I just know that when my partner and I decided we were ready to have a child, we questioned if bringing another life into this world was even morally and ethically responsible. Adding another human to an already stressed planet, and then leaving that human to contend with challenges none of us have yet had to face seems careless at best.

The extreme weather events that we’re seeing now are just the tip of the (melting) iceberg. It’s also heartbreaking to know that my son may never see the vivid patterns on the wings of a Monarch butterfly, or remember the comforting flavor of maple syrup on a hot stack of pancakes.

In our home, we do what we can to make healthy decisions for our family that also consider the environment. Adopting a mostly plant-based lifestyle (we still eat meat but we’ve cut way back), using homemade and/or non-toxic cleaners, recycling, and minimizing the use of all plastics are just some of the small ways we attempt to do our part. As a working mom, though, convenience still wins sometimes; we use store-bought diapers and wipes. And we’re working towards establishing better systems to help reduce our food waste and the amount of trash we produce.

As an aside, this is not meant in any way to judge what other families do. We all make choices and have priorities based on what works for us. That’s perfectly ok.

To be clear, we didn’t find an answer to our question before we started our family. Maybe this rising generation will have the wisdom, innovation, and technology to create compassionate solutions that allow humanity to coexist with a thriving planet.

At least, that’s what I hope.

By MJ Ali

When I was 11 years old, I made a pact with myself. I would not have children, and if I did want to raise children, I would adopt. My reasoning for this was very simple: I did not want to contribute to the burden of an already-overpopulated planet.

I kept my pact, but I never did adopt. Instead, I went into one of the most underpaid, highest burnout professions possible, and touched multiple facets of that profession for the vast majority of my adult life.

Human services is not for the faint-hearted. I’ve been bitten by angry teens, soiled by children who would never have control of their own bodily functions, spun like a toy by a very strong autistic man, bled on by a terrified person from whom I was drawing blood to determine their HIV status, drooled on while counseling in the field as someone tried not to pass out on me, and witnessed the agony of premature and violent death. All while making just enough money, even as a director, to need to moonlight to make ends meet.

I stayed in this profession because I cared deeply about the people with whom I was working. I’ve been lucky enough to witness the entrance into adulthood and parenthood of some of my homeless teens. I’ve witnessed the resilience of the human spirit. I’ve watched as people pulled themselves from the mouth of death and turn their lives—and hearts—around. I’ve learned from each and every person with whom I worked, and I feel honored to have been a small part of those lives.

Whether I chose my profession or it chose me, there were parenting aspects to it that make me wonder if this was my way of utilizing that parenting instinct. I’ve been infinitely encouraged and begged to be a parent, but I never felt my life was incomplete without children of my own, blood or adopted. I felt as though part of that parenting instinct engaged with every individual whose lives I touched, and whose lives touched mine. And that now numbers in the many hundreds or more. I parent my animals. I parented the children in my neighborhood when I was in my twenties. I parent myself. I utilized that parenting instinct to provide meaningful guidance and the experience of safety to others.

I think parenting as a practice has a larger wingspan. Anyone—or anything—that looks to us for nourishment, safety, guidance, connection and unconditional love can certainly be found under those wings.

If parenting is bonding, nurturing, encouraging, providing boundaries and safety, unconditional love and acceptance, perhaps its concept is more universal. If we all looked out for one another, strangers and family alike, I wonder what kind of world we could make.

By Shannon E. Franklin and Ana Lewis

Note from the editor:

May is Parenting Month at Co-Op Web, and CEO Ana Lewis started working as a Work-At-Home Mom (WAHM) when her oldest child was around one year old. Now that her children are grown, she has some experiences to share with staff member Shannon E. Franklin, who is a new mom, and a new WAHM.

In this week’s blog post, Shannon interviews Ana about her experiences as a WAHM. Next week, we turn the tables and Ana interviews Shannon.

Ana and Shannon’s hope is that their insights and experiences with readers who are considering work-from-home parenting will provide inspiration, motivation and encouragement to move toward that goal.

Note: to all the work-at-home dads out there, we hope these interviews will be helpful to you as well.

—

Shannon: How did you structure your time so that you could get work done while also taking care of your children?

Ana: When I first started working at home in 1982, my oldest son was my only child and he was about a year old. I worked with a group of women I met at La Leche League, who wanted to earn an income but still raise our own children. It was a wonderful way to have social and work time for me and my son. I still keep in touch with this original woman I worked at home with and who helped get me started. I will always be grateful to her for her patience and kindness and for opening a door I didn’t even know how to open myself.

Through moves and the additional births of my middle son and daughter, I took classes in fashion design. I started making dancewear at a new home-based business. I did this from 1987 to 1994, and managed to juggle being class mom for all of my children’s classes, driving them to and from all of their sports, and being a chaperone on their field trips. Basically putting the kids first to the nth degree. I would work sometimes all night, so I could be available to the kids during the day.

I wouldn’t recommend that method of crazy-making. I have two divorces to showcase what can happen when you put kids and business first. I ended my career in dancewear design after the juggling got to me so bad that I ended up sleeping on the floor of the bathroom due to the fact that I was so sick from it all.

The most recent rendition of my work-at-home adventure began more than twenty years ago with the Co-Op Web. For four years—1994 to1998—I trained at two Internet Service Providers for my work at Co-Op Web. I was like a sponge soaking up information about the internet, computers, websites, online marketing—it was all so intriguing to me. I was learning something new every day. It was an avenue where I could be creative, learn new things and work remotely. The internet was/is a beautiful opportunity for me to have my cake and eat it too.

By this time, my kids were older. I no longer was class mom, but I would still go on occasional field trips and try to stay involved in their school, sports and lives. My New Year’s resolution was the same for several years in a row, to under-schedule myself. I was able to work from anywhere. I was able to work when the kids were in school. I was able to work from a villa on the beach in Mexico while my children played nearby. I was in the beginning stages of learning balance and it only took like forever, two failed marriages and a whole lot of trial and error.

These days, my own children are grown and no longer live at home. I am a stepmom to a teenager and most days are all mine. I outlined my typical day in the blog post, A Day in the Life of a WAHM.

Shannon: Did you ever deal with “mom guilt” while you were working?

Ana: Mom guilt–probably the impetus of me trying to be class mom and everything mom-ish in the universe to my kids as much as I could. Not healthy. Now, I say lose the guilt. Guilt will wring you out until you end up in pieces, wondering what happened and having to start out again, over and over. Get out of your own way. Read books like The 4-Hour Workweek and learn to make your life your own.

Shannon: What’s something you learned about yourself during your time as a WAHM?

I have learned what my priorities are. That may seem small, but it’s huge. I used to lament trying to make sure I am making a difference and having work that is purposeful. However, now I never lament such things. Now I appreciate the reasons that I am here. The reasons I became a mom. The reason I now have a successful marriage. It’s the people. Always been the people. I love working with the people I work with. I love our clients. I love my family and friends. I now know with all of my heart that when the time comes that I am no longer here, it’s the people I will miss the most. And I believe that this resonates in my work and the way that I spend my time.

Shannon: As a WAHM, you were constantly being pulled in different directions. How did you find time for yourself?

Ana: I learned to find time for myself in the times of day I loved the most, a practice I continue today. The early morning, alone in my yoga room, is a daily standard for me. It grounds me and I so love it. When the kids were younger, I would wake up earlier than them and hop on a stationary bike in my bedroom, with the door closed and CNN on. That’s what I was doing on 9/11. Having my alone time. Of course, when the kids were young, and the business phone would ring, there were more occasions than I would like to remember where I had to go into my walk-in closet to talk to a client in quiet, uninterrupted peace.

Shannon: What was your favorite part about being a WAHM?

Ana: My favorite part about being a WAHM has always been and still is the flexibility to spend time on the work and the people I love. Flexibility is a gift that keeps on giving all life long. I love being able to make my own schedule. I’m a bit OCD, so I don’t like things standing out on a to-do list. I like to get them done. Working at home allows me to clear my to-do list and create less havoc in my own brain.

Flexibility comes in many forms: being able to work from anywhere, any time and in following your own circadian rhythms. It’s fantastic for an early-bird, OCD, creative explorer like me.

By Ana Lewis and Shannon E. Franklin

Part 2 of the WAHM interview, continued from Part 1.

Ana: What are your top reasons for becoming a WAHM?

Shannon: My number one reason for becoming a WAHM is simply to be with my son. I wanted to savor every precious moment with our son after he was born. Besides, we’re currently living away from our family and most friends, and the thought of leaving my tiny new baby with strangers at daycare made my stomach tie itself into knots.

Before my son was born, I was working full time for a big architecture firm in Manhattan – a kind of a dream come true. I loved my job, but after my six weeks of maternity leave was over, I didn’t feel ready to return to work, so I extended my leave. A few months passed and I had to make a decision: return to work full-time, or leave my wonderful job. I chose to leave my job and stay home with my son. But, the firm is so fantastic that they offered me the opportunity to work part-time from home. Now, I spend my days working for the architecture firm, a coworking space in South Carolina, on various freelance projects, and taking care of my son.

I recently found a place nearby that’s a combined coworking space and daycare, so twice a week I’m able to get focused time to work while my son (who seems to be a social butterfly) gets some desperately needed playtime with a few babies his age. If I start to worry or miss him in those few hours, I can just pop downstairs and say hi to him!

Ana: Did you prep in advance to work at home before becoming a mom? If so, how?

Shannon: I didn’t prepare much to become a work-at-home mom. At the time I made the decision, I didn’t put much thought into what it might take. Since I made the decision before the part-time offer came from the architecture firm, I assumed that I would be mostly setting my own schedule with the freelance work I chose to take on. I didn’t think that I would need much of a structured day, or that the baby would need to be on a particular routine. Spoiler alert: I was wrong. When I started working for the firm again, I wished I had done things a little differently. I would have prepared by having a more solid daily routine with the baby so that my days would be more predictable. Also, I would have set up my own designated workspace in advance, instead of working on my laptop at the dining room table most days.

Ana: Has it been hard to find work while working at home?

Shannon: It hasn’t been particularly hard to find work while at home. Between the architecture firm and the coworking space, I have a consistent flow of work that keeps me busy for nearly full-time hours during the week. The number of freelance projects I have at any given time is usually a direct result of the amount of effort I put into looking for them.

Ana: What are some of your greatest challenges about being a WAHM?

Shannon: There are so many challenges. Being a WAHM is hard.

Work: I struggle with having enough focused time to get my work done. It’s difficult to be truly productive when I’m stopping constantly to feed the baby, change the baby, stop the baby from putting lint (or usually something worse) in his mouth. I have the most time to concentrate at night after the baby goes to sleep – and by then I’m usually ready to fall asleep myself!

At Home: I feel a constant pressure to keep the house clean, laundry done, food cooked, and more. I recognize the ways other people assume that since I’m at home I’m not really working, so it shouldn’t be a problem to maintain the household. Through extreme exhaustion, overwhelm and mental burnout, I’m learning the very difficult lesson that–no matter what others expect–I really cannot do everything. On busy work days, I have to make choices about what’s most important to accomplish, and how to do those things without sacrificing my health. To that end, dinner gets delivered more often than I think is actually acceptable, and unwashed laundry sits in a pile on the floor a little longer than I think it should. But, I also try not to beat myself up about it too much, knowing that even though I feel like I’m sometimes falling short, most days I’m still doing a pretty good job.

Mom: I feel guilty when I know that my son wants my attention but my eyes are glued to my laptop to work. Sometimes I question my decision: what’s the point of being at home with him if I’m not fully present? I also would like to make more time to do fun things with him during the day, like music class or swimming lessons.

Ana: What are some of your greatest joys?

Shannon: My greatest joy is that I’ve been able to make so many memories and witness every milestone within my son’s first year. These are moments that we’ll never have again, and I’ve had a front row seat to see his first steps, hear his first words and watch him grow into the big, new world unfolding around him. Just having the opportunity to be in his presence daily is my life’s greatest joy.

By Abigail Edwards

Sacrificial

Heart of gold

Arms always welcoming

Ready to hold

Openhearted

No judgment or fear

Ever advising

With wisdom and cheer

She values tradition

And blessing those ’round

With gifts of the heart

And the hands; they abound

She asks for so little

And cares through and through

As the one who supports me

In all that I do

By MJ Ali

This is the last post in our May series on motherhood, and I’m keeping it simple: Thank you to the mothers—and mothering men—no longer here.

Mom
Thank you for your strength, resilience and humor. For a woman from your generation who would have rather been a surgeon than a mom, you saw it through, bumps and bruises and all. Your ability to transcend perceived generational differences came from your inherent belief that age was a cage (or an illusion), and assumptions of generation gaps were self-imposed and imagined. After a successful career in business, you went ahead and obtained a BA in your fifties, MA and PhD in your sixties, and went on to become an expert in your field. Oh, yeah. You were also a wonderful artist, host, gardener and cook.

Grandma R
Many of the traits I admired in my mother I also admired in you. You broke some molds, assured me it really was okay to be both a tomboy (as were you) and whatever else I would come to express in my discovery-phase adolescence. You didn’t tolerate any kind of abuse from men, and passed that right down to your daughter, who passed it down to me (took me a while, but I finally got there).

Grandma W
You grew up speaking your own beautiful language as well as those of your colonists with grace and ease. You could read a 350-page book and recall from memory what was in the third paragraph of page 173. Your hands never stopped. Crafting silken treasures for the rich, picking berries for pies you would make and give away, kneading dough, turning the pages of a book. Those hands were a constant prayer, and the limitlessness of your spiritual beliefs gave me the freedom to find my own way.

Connie
A friend of my parents, you were brilliant, funny and quirky, always spoke your mind and celebrated strength and compassion as irrepressible traits. Working professional and mother of four, you guided your children with humor and wise counsel, always finding time for the important stuff. And woman could you cook! You had an admiring sous chef in your husband, who would sometimes weep at your creations.

Shay/Charles
You provided safety, unconditional love, nurturing, and a window into a world of self-acceptance and celebration. You taught by showing, so I was privileged to witness the art and effort in your transformations as well as your unwavering grace in the face of abject ridicule, hatred, and discrimination. You were the essence of beauty and strength, and even though you were taken so young, you were—and remain—mother to many.

Um Ali
Ya Ummi. I miss the honor given to an adopted daughter of rubbing your feet when a long day left nothing but pain. I miss oiling and braiding your hair as you shared stories and pearls of wisdom. I miss sitting under the grape vines and chopping greens together. I miss your singing. You were so gracefully fierce and infinitely loving, a peaceful warrior for whom life had been unrelentingly jagged and cold. So your smile, every day, was an infectious, defiant joy that you passed on to your children, both blood and adopted (which you said was the same thing). I miss you every day the sun rises. Ya Ummi.

By Ana Lewis

“ROADTRP” used to be my vanity license plate. Once, while I was stopped at a busy intersection, a homeless woman came to my open window chuckling and said, “My boyfriend told me that I’m a ‘road trip’. Does yours say the same thing?” I replied, “No, but I am sure my ex-husbands would agree.”

I am still a “road trip” at heart and this summer, I aim to prove it. Every summer, in the efforts of working flexibility and getting away from the brutal Arizona summers, my husband and I are going on a road trip and we aren’t exactly sure all the places the road will take us. Yes, we have a few initial items planned out to see family and friends, but other than that, we have decided to let the road tell us where we shall go. I’m typically pretty good at this.

For more than fifteen years, I was a single mom raising my three kids and we would join up with my friends and their kids and get on the highway. We ended up spending many summers hanging out on the beach, staying with friends, teaching our teenage kids how to drive on small back roads, eating lots of finger foods and listening to fab road trip music. When I got married, we didn’t do this as much. I married a fighter pilot.

My pilot husband was used to speed and a destination. He wasn’t so much about letting the road let us know which way to go; he wanted to get there the fastest way, and he wanted to drive.

This summer, I had to readjust my flexibility hat and make a decision to wake up my inner “road trip” woman and take her for a much needed spin. Here are some of the ways that I am planning for this adventure: 

• I am limiting myself to ONE suitcase, as we are taking my car and the space is limited.
• I am looking for lots of books on audio to bring along.
• I am putting the people in our lives first. This makes me so excited about seeing them, and not being too fixated on how and when we get there.
• I am not over-planning. There are many reservations NOT made.
• I am bringing all of my work stuff, so I can be reachable at any time by my clients and staff. This is my security blanket, and it gives me a sigh of relief knowing that I am still available.
• I am packing lots of healthy road trip foods, as this is one of the most important things.

Summer lends us a little more flexibility and is the best time of year to wake up your inner person and enjoy your beautiful life.

By Abigail Edwards

Morning glimmers through the panes

Its warmth a facet of the world

Outside on grassy green terrains

Flowers wake and come unfurled

As the sunlight finds my face

And friends are shouting in the street

I leap and twirl at steady pace

Dodging the sprinklers at my feet

Fresh strawberries, banana bread

Iced lemonade in tall glasses

Tablecloths in blue, white, red

And fingers sticky with molasses

Hula hoops and jump ropes

Tire swings and monkey bars

Wishing stars and telescopes

And fireflies caught in glass jars

Watching for the summer rains

We walk on cooler evenings

And as the fireworks thunder

We are thankful for our blessings

By Shannon E. Franklin

I really miss summers in Tucson. The bright, long days and the air that stays warm long into the nights. The clear, blue, morning skies that give way to ominous deep gray and lavender clouds that indicate the monsoon has come. The rainbow that shines bright against the purple sky as the sun triumphantly returns. The earthy perfume of creosote that lingers in the wet air. The sun that sets the sky ablaze with hues of magenta and tangerine as it sinks below the horizon.

As a kid, I was terrified of those almost-daily thunderstorms, but I long for them now and I always associate them with summer.

There’s something else I’m reminded of when I think about summers: road trips with my dads.

My mom and dad divorced when I was toddler, too young to have any real recollection of them being together. Shortly after, my mom and (now) stepdad, Bill, got together. So, from my earliest memories, I’ve always had two dads. And while I lived with my mom and Bill, my dad was never very far away as a child.

As I grew, the relationship with my dads started to take shape. I’m very close with all my parents, yet it’s no secret that I’ve always been a “daddy’s girl.” Ask me today and I’ll tell you that my dad is one of my very best friends.

And I’ve always been bonded with Bill, too, but it’s just different. He was the one that was there every day—driving me to school, attending my recitals, dropping me off at sleepovers, doing all the things dads do—but it wasn’t like the relationship I had with my dad. I never thought much of it–we were close and it’s just how we were.

My dad and Bill were both in the military, and when my dad got stationed in Florida, we decided that I would spend the summer with him when school let out. I was maybe 8 or 9 at the time, and was not at all sold on the idea of flying alone from Arizona. So, Bill planned a road trip for us. We hopped in his maroon Chevy Lumina and drove for several days across the country so he could drop me off. We got to Florida, Bill stayed the night at my dad’s house, then the next day he turned around and went right back to Arizona.

When the summer was over, my dad and I climbed into his Nissan 300ZX to return me to my mom and Bill. He spent a couple of nights at our house in Tucson, and then made the journey home.

On rides with Bill, we played made-up games to see who could name bands or cars that started with every letter of the alphabet, and he quizzed me on which of his favorite 80’s hair bands was singing the songs we heard on the radio.

I remember once driving through Texas, watching the clouds turn gray and green and swirl around us, only to find out on the news that we had narrowly missed a tornado that touched down in the area.

My dad and I listened to a lot of music, too, except he quizzed me and we sang along to R&B groups he grew up listening to. He would tell me stories about my mom (they grew up together) and his childhood—stories he still tells me today.

One time, on the way home with my dad, we saw so many shooting stars flashing across the black desert sky near the border of Arizona and New Mexico, that we lost count.

These dad-daughter cross-country trips went on for 3 or 4 years, until I was finally ready to take my first solo flight after my dad moved to California.

I always had a blast starting and ending my summers this way with my dads, but as a kid I never really understood the big picture.

Reflecting back on it now, those summer drives across the country with Bill-Bill (as I’ve always affectionately called him) symbolize for me our special relationship: the sacrifice, the time, and the effort he’s been diligent about giving to make me feel happy, loved, and comfortable.

What I perceived as a distance—the difference—was probably Bill trying to take it all in and figure it all out: how to understand and solidify his place as a father when I also had a dad I was so attached to. How it must have been uncomfortable, at times, for him to forge a relationship with my dad. How to create our own unique bond. How to navigate being a White dad to a Black daughter. How to relate, when his life experiences were so vastly different from the life I had and would have. How to be there for me, and stay here with me.

Yes, there’s a difference. But I wonder if Bill knows how much of him I see in myself. What I’ve learned from him over the years. What I’ve absorbed. What he’s passed on, from father to daughter. How much I admire him for the man he’s always been and the ways in which he’s grown. How, say, if my dad was my wings, Bill would be the wind beneath them.

One summer, when I was in junior high and my dad was visiting Tucson, the three of us decided to drive to a mall in Phoenix for the afternoon. About halfway through our drive, the air conditioner in Bill’s car gave up, but we kept going. We rolled down the windows in vain as the hot air blew in and instantly dried the sweat trickling down my forehead. We finally arrived at the mall and as we walked around and cooled off, we spotted a virtual reality demonstration (this was the 90’s, by the way). My dad and I both stepped right up to try it, but Bill decided not to. Shortly after, my head started spinning and I felt nauseated. So did my dad. Bill drove us back home, still with no air conditioning and this time, me and my dad on the verge of puking the whole time. We laugh about it to this day.

I’ve always put my dad on a pedestal.

And Bill-Bill is sitting on his own, right beside him.

By MJ Ali

I grew up in the northeast US, where summer meant living outside and being barefoot whenever we could. Now, living in the desert southwest US, anticipation of summer takes on a very different tone. People stay indoors more, and going barefoot is considered an extreme sport.

From anticipating our first 100+-degree day to best-guessing when monsoon season will start, we watch the temps and barometer on queue to map summer like an oncoming assault.

Like many people who live in the desert southwest year-round, I think about event markers to keep me moving through summer. While people in milder climates are actually celebrating summer, we’re often celebrating surviving summer.

I’m still learning and improving on things I can do to respect summer and live peaceably in it. And, since I no longer have a swamp cooler but enjoy the luxury of air conditioning, I think back on my swamp cooler days and feel appreciation for my current cooling comforts.

I also try to add to the things I can do to step away from technology (and its heat).

DRAWING

I love sketching with my tablet, but I balance that out with equal or more time with pencil and paper. Drawing on an 18 x 24 pad means my creative space is bigger, and that evokes different ideas. I get to do from-the-shoulder drawing, see where my pencil and imagination lead me. This is not only very different from my graphic design work in that it’s something I do just for me, but it’s also untethered. I’m not relying on anything but simple tools.

Even during my tech-heavy work, I keep a sketchpad and pencil nearby.

MEDITATING

My meditation practices have always been simple and flexible since I was fifteen. In the summer, though, I use the outdoors much less for meditation, and I miss it. So, I’m taking advice from my dog, who wisely goes out and meditates in dirt no matter how hot. I’m not as brave as my dog (and hey, no fur for protection), but I will use a patchy shaded area to sit in the early morning (we’re talking 4am if I want to beat the heat) for my first meditation of the day. Kick off my shoes, sit on the big boulder under the tree and sink my toes into the soft ground.

COOLING

Lighting color and brightness can have a big impact on summer tolerance. LED doesn’t put out the same heat as incandescent, and many lamps offer both dimmer and color choices. It’s so nice to be able to change these variables and feel an immediate difference in how I perceive my immediate environment.

I also try to leave my home business computer off one day a week. At least for part of that day, turn everything off. Phones, tablets, computers, router, everything. Even if I can’t do it for the full day, I try to do this as often–and for as long–as I can. My one exception to this is that, especially when we’re in an unrelenting stretch of >100° heat, I will do glacier/snow/ice screen savers on my TV and will watch “cold” movies when possible. I swear it helps.

PERSPECTIVE

I also want to celebrate the weather so unique to this region. I do go out in the sun for very short periods and appreciate the cleansing feeling a dry heat can provide. I love watching the lizards navigate their way through the environment. I try to catch as many sunrises and sunsets as possible, and there are a lot in summer. At dusk, I go out to watch the bats begin their nightly feeding. I guess my happy summer place is where bats, lizards, sunsets and rain make an appearance.

Having something to look forward to during summer, instead of just waiting for it to be over, is a really important way for me to show up during this season and be present for it, whatever the temperature.

By Ana Lewis

Recently, my father-in-law has resided more often in the hospital than in his own home, which is two doors away from us. It’s been a hardship on the family, as well as on him. And now, we worry about his wife, my mother-in-law.

My husband and his siblings have been very present for their parents, helping them through some very trying times over the past few years. Luckily, we all live very close together, so the siblings are able to orchestrate a lot of teamwork. Even with my mother-in-law living only two doors away, I am already wondering if it’s too far away for our collective peace of mind.

This makes me wonder how families do this when they live far apart, as mine has. What happened to the glue in our families that would create the elements of communal living?

While communal living has many benefits, there are also some issues. Here are a few items I am noting. And as I write these, I am also noticing that these can also be applied to any communal-type environment, including a healthy work community.

• Sharing of resources. Everyone has his or her own skills and talents that contribute to the whole. Knowing that you add value to the whole community is important and helps each to feel a sense of purpose and fulfillment.
• Learning to live more in the moment. I find myself asking a lot of “what if?” questions that aren’t very productive and are more of the worrywart variety.
• Including yourself in the care factor. When you spend a lot of time addressing what’s hot and stop taking care of yourself, it leads to burnout. Whether it’s with a baby or your elderly parents, it can be overwhelming and make you forget to take care of your own needs.

As the “sandwich” generation, I think we’re feeling the importance of being there for our friends and family as much as we can, while also acknowledging that we need help sometimes, too.

To gain perspective and inspiration, check out how some have successfully achieved current-day communal living:

Shared living: tearing down the walls between families and communities

Cohousing: A Growing Concept in Communal Living

The Hot New Millennial Housing Trend Is a Repeat of the Middle Ages

By Shannon E. Franklin

When my son was around eight weeks old, I had to go to a site visit and committee meeting for an event in which I was volunteering. It was the first time I’d left the house without my baby, but it was also the first time I realized the significance (or the existence) of the “mom” community.

Some of the women on the committee had recently worked with my partner, and they had heard all about our new baby. They asked about him, and cooed and giggled and gushed over his photos. He’s pretty much the cutest baby ever, so I expected this kind of reaction, but I was not prepared for how sweet, caring and concerned they were toward me.

“You’re doing great!”

“Good job, mama!”

“It gets better!”

They cheered me on as I smiled incredulously.

Another woman who I perceived as a little cold at our first introduction warmed up. “You’re a mom?” she asked, suddenly showing interest and smiling. She started to tell me about her 9-year-old and how much she missed his days as an infant.

As we got ready to part, the whole group chatted casually about our availability over the upcoming months. Two women, decked out in athleisure and baseball caps, let us know that contacting one of them was like reaching out to both of them, that they would split work between them because they were close friends but more importantly, super-busy because –– they looked at each other, faces beaming as they said proudly –– “we’re moms.”

‘Wow wow wow,’ I thought. I had received many phone calls and texts congratulating us on our new addition and welcoming me to motherhood, but I had no idea that I had just been granted instant entry into a special club where the only requirement for entry was a child. I knew that motherhood was personally meaningful, but I hadn’t really considered its value in the broader context of society.

Motherhood changed me, suddenly and unexpectedly, beyond everything obvious that comes from being responsible for a new human life.

After all, women get mixed messages about motherhood all the time, starting from before the child is even born. Pregnancy –– depending on your age, ethnicity and status –– isn’t always celebrated. Prenatal care can be laughable, and once you have the baby, maternity leave in the US is a joke unless you work for an amazing company.

If you don’t have the desire to be a mom, there’s something wrong with you. If you want kids but don’t or can’t have them for whatever reason, there’s something wrong with you. If you work and have kids, you better be ready to give up your career. If you stay at home with your kids, why aren’t you aspiring to do more?

Motherhood changed me, suddenly and unexpectedly, beyond everything obvious that comes from being responsible for a new human life.

Waking up in the middle of the night for feedings, plodding through the work day but barely making it through my exhaustion while still trying to fulfill my other household responsibilities? Hard. Maintain a relationship with a partner? How do I even do that?

I felt lonely and isolated, and being away from all my family and friends, I found myself craving connection in a way I never have before.

I’ve never wanted my own mommy as an adult more than I have in the past year since my son was born. I needed the support, but I also wanted the company and the comfort of someone who’d done it all before.

But then something wonderful happened.

A new level of friendship opened with my close friends who had become moms before me because of this new, shared thing we have in common.

And then I started becoming more outgoing, reaching out to strangers on Instagram, asking questions, offering advice, attending meet-ups, just because our kids are the same age or we’re experiencing the same issue at the moment. I joined a local moms group on Facebook and signed up for meet-ups through another social site.

As someone who’s always been kind of a loner, I have to admit that I am enjoying this newfound sense of community and connection.

Recently I noticed my son’s classmate sitting outside of a restaurant with his mom, whom I’d never met. I started to walk toward my car, but then I turned around, walked up and introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m ‘S’’s mom. He and ‘A’ love each other!”

She instantly broke into a smile. “Oh, yes, they do! I’m so glad you came to introduce yourself! We have lunch here every Friday.”

She shared how they’d just moved from the town she grew up in and was looking to meet friends and make connections.

“Maybe next week we can join you?” I asked.

She looked relieved. “I would really love that.”