When it all falls apart

or, a reflection on uncertainty and discomfort

Since starting this newsletter, I’ve been cognizant of trying to balance advocacy with inclusivity. See, I truly believe that motherhood is political, and that working mother is particularly political. My political bias is obvious to most readers, and yet I’ve always tried to be respectful of the fact that not all readers of this newsletter share the same opinions or political persuasion.

I also believe that part of why it’s so difficult to implement meaningful change for women and for working families is because American society has done such a good job at pulling moms apart and separating us into dichotomous and discordant groups—working vs. stay-at-home; free-range vs. helicopter; breastfeeding vs. formula-feeding. I have never wanted this newsletter to perpetuate division.

With that said, it can be difficult to know how “political” to be in this space.

The internet is currently flooded with postmortems, commentaries, doom-posts, and spin about last week’s election, and — I don’t know about you — but I feel like I’ve reached my emotional capacity. I’m not a political theorist or a journalist, so I’m not going to write my “take” on the election. But I am a professional who frequently sits with people in moments of discomfort and uncertainty. And I certainly know what it’s like to experience those feelings myself.

Maybe some of you feel that way now, too. Maybe you’re struggling to make sense of this year’s election results. Maybe your child is dealing with a major illness, or struggling with their mental health. Maybe you’re shepherding a parent through the final stage of their life. Maybe you’re in the middle of a painful divorce and you’re wracked with uncertainty about what comes next. Maybe—although, I genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, hope not—you’re coping with several of these things and more. Either way, you have to get up every morning and power through.

If this is you, I want you to know that I see you. I know the strength it takes to wake up every morning (probably earlier than you wanted to) and make PB&J sandwiches, and kiss boo-boos, and make sure homework has been completed while feeling so heavy you could sink into a puddle on your kitchen floor. I understand the fortitude required to meet deadlines, mediate petty workplace arguments, and flash a smile during a big presentation while feeling like you might collapse with despair, exhaustion, or grief. You’re doing it because you have no choice, but you are doing it.

I wish I could offer you a list of tangible solutions to help you through this time. I wish it was that easy—I really, really do. But I know—firsthand—that it’s not, and sometimes the only way out is through.

I don’t have a solution, but I do have one suggestion: lean into your community. Expand your circle, rather than contract. I know how easy it is, when things get hard, to retreat inwards—to get inside your own head and only let a very small group of people inside. But the older I get, the more I realize this is a mistake. So, reach out and let others in.

Take care of yourselves and each other.

In solidarity,

Jessica

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