I’m that girl.

I’m that girl. 

I’m that girl who forgets to text you back at 1 PM because my kids are screaming and I can’t think straight. You’ll more than likely hear from me around 4 AM these days. But it’s fine, because I am eventually going to get back to you. Hopefully we both still remember what we were talking about. 

I’m that girl who will call to tell you a story but I’m laughing so uncontrollably hard you can’t understand a word I’m saying.

I’m that girl who isn’t going to hesitantly sigh out a yes for you when it should be a flat out no. I don’t sugarcoat, and I won’t lie my way around the things you need to hear. If that blue eyeshadow makes you look like a peacock, girlfriend we’re fixing to have a talk. I would hope you’d do the same for me, but you know a peacock belongs in the zoo, and honey, we all know I got your zoo. 

Boy mom. Mom of boys. Corralling wildlife. Raising tiny humans. Call it what you want. It’s the best, hands down. I’m never really sure what day it is, and I don’t even call them by the correct name these days, but they’re clean, fed and loved. They’re pretty happy, too, I think. Even if they’re hanging from trees and testing the boundaries daily. I’ll claim em’ anyway.

I’m not going to glamorize my life for you. If you come to my house in the middle of a work week, I’ll probably be suffocating under a pile of laundry, there will be a heap of socks I haven’t matched and a hazardous pile of toys in the front hallway. Watch your step. 🙃 We will more than likely be eating a frozen pizza, yelling over each other and there’s a good chance my appearance will have seen better days. Don’t worry, I always try to at least brush my teeth. But you’re always going to be welcome. It’s not always pretty. I’m not going to put on a show. I’m not going to kill myself trying to impress. And it’s not always subtle. But it’s a judge free zone with open arms, and you can always find that here with me. 

I’m the girl who is on time for this but late for that, and I’ll probably stop for an overpriced iced coffee on the way. I’ve got this one life, and I’m not going to spend it decaffeinated. 

I’m moody in the morning and in my best spirits when I know it’s Friday, but I also know how incredible it is to have another day, no matter what day that is. God is good seven days a week, but I think he knows that a little coffee and Jesus hits different on a Friday morning. 

I love being a wife. My husband is the absolute greatest. But lawd help us all when my stress level and the laundry basket have hit their maximum. Thank goodness for good men, chocolate and Bota Box. 

I’m that girl who loves being a wife and momma. I love having babies. My health and pregnancy aren’t kind to me, but I’d have a baby every year if I could. I love our family life. I love my husband. But I’m also the girl who has been critiqued and criticized for all of those things. So now, I’m the momma who doesn’t tolerate the outside input. I do what’s right for my own. I make the best choices for my babies and I’m grateful I don’t have to decide for yours. At the end of the day, you don’t pay my bills, buy my formula or clean up that blow out diaper baby #3 had at the mall - so it’s probably best to stay in your lane, Carol. 🤚🏼

I’m that girl who doesn’t pick and choose who I love. If who you are makes you happy, then I already love you. I don’t care what you believe, how you look, or who and how you love. I care that you’re kind and a good person. I care that you consider other people in the room when you’re about to swipe the last Chicken Express roll. I care that if someone smiles at you, you smile back. That you still go down swinging for the underdog even if no one is watching. What determines a good person from a crummy one? I’m not really sure. But I’ve set my own standards, and these days, I think they’re pretty spot on. 

I’m not political and I don’t plan to be. The world is so different. We are all different. I don’t expect anyone to think the way that I do. Ever. I know what I know and I don’t really care if anyone else submits their seal of approval. I don’t need opinions, propaganda or arguments over Facebook to convince me whether or not my morals are in the right place. Come November, I decide what box I check on my ballot. If you’d like to do it for me, feel free to also fill the car up with gas, watch the kids and fold a few baskets of laundry while you’re at it. God speed. 

I’m already too tall for high heels and still too short to reach the diapers on the top shelf at Walmart and still not skinny enough to fit inside that crack between the washer and dryer.

If I put on any kind of dress I immediately feel like I’m going to a funeral, I have a love affair with dry shampoo, watermelon needs salt and I’m all about the brownie edges. I would probably swim tirelessly in Doritos and hot fries dipped in ranch if it wouldn’t stain my flesh red. 

I’m too much for some people, and not enough for the others. I’ve spent a great deal of my life working toward goals, growing and learning from my mistakes. I’ve always built a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at me, and I will always be that kind of girl.

I have a bod - a mom bod. I shimmy my love handles into high rise jeans and have pretty well given up on the padding in fancy bathing suits and wearing a wired bra. Bralettes are where it’s at anyway. 🙌🏽

I’m not going to diet. I’m not going to loathe the way I look when I see myself in the mirror. I’m not going to slim down or tone up anytime soon. I’m not going to Snapchat myself working out so you can tell me I’m on fire. I’ll never be a Victoria’s Secret Model, because let’s be real, THAT’S NOT REAL. 

I like makeup and I love a good contour. I don’t know anything about how to contour, but I know I like to stare at the process on YouTube like I’m going to make a genuine attempt at it. 

If you’re my friend, you’re my forever friend. I’m going to love you unconditionally and wholeheartedly. I’m going to open my door for you whenever you need some girl talk and come to your rescue when you’ve gotten yourself into trouble. I will fight the same fights you fight. I will sacrifice for you and be a shoulder to sob on. I will check on you even when you’re annoyed that I’m checking. I will want the very best for you because you deserve it, and I vow to drag you out kicking and screaming if it’s not. I will take the pictures, savor the memories and crop out our double chins. And I’ll bring the wine. I will always bring the wine. 

But let me also tell you something about my friendships. They’re real. They’re with real people who stay to clean up after the messes are made. They come when you need them, and are on emergency stand by if you don’t. They also love with their entire heart. They’re the people who I know respect me in the way I respect them. We don’t need validation, attention or constant negativity for our relationships to thrive. We don’t ever need to backstab, badmouth or tear each other down to make ourselves feel better. We’re far from shallow and too close to crazy, but we love, support and cheer each other on, and if you’re not sitting at a table like that- you need to throw in the napkin, get that margarita to-go, and hit the road, sister. Don’t forget to tip the server on your way out. ✌🏽

I’ve been called stupid and ugly. I’ve been made to feel like less than what I am. I’ve been told I’m too happy and that I’m not happy enough. I’ve been the girl who didn’t fit in. I’ve been told I wouldn’t succeed, and disposable in someone else’s eyes. I’ve wrestled with expectations and fought to be “good enough” when I didn’t actually have to. I’ve been the girl who wondered if she’d make it - and the girl who did. 

I’ve also been the girl who is strong when she didn’t think she could be. I’ve stood back up after a knock down I thought I wouldn’t come back from. I’ve went out on limbs that I just knew would break beneath my feet and rebounded from heartbreaks I didn’t think could ever be healed. I’ve always picked myself up and kept moving, and I’ve never had any regrets. 

I’m a lover of the little things- the small things. That solo mommin’ car ride by yourself when you can finally turn the music up and roll the windows down. The comfy date nights at home in our pjs with a greasy pizza and some reruns. The smell of fall candles and pumpkin spice. That sip of Dr. Pepper that touches your soul. The special moments with the people I love. The small things, yeah, they make up every bit of who this girl is.

I’m that girl who says what’s on her mind. Some days, it’s a downfall. Other days, people tell me I should work for the prosecution. I’m unfiltered, untamed and untouchable most days. I stand up for what I’m passionate about and walk away from the things I’m not. Life is too short. 

If it doesn’t contribute happiness, positivity and light to my life, I’m not about it. I’ve lost the motivation and don’t have the time for things that don’t truly bring me joy. So, if I’m not as chipper as the moment I get to consume the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies I’ve been perfecting, it’s getting scratched off my priority check list. 

I like yoga pants - leggings - laughing and cake, hold the icing please. I love a good movie but a good book is even better. Give me a rainy night and a page turner I can’t put down until 2 AM. So I can hate myself in the morning and it can feel totally worth it. 

I’m loyal, stubborn and a pro chaos coordinator. I’m a mess - A hot mess. With a messy bun that I indeed struggled to make look messy. I’m nine kinds of hell in a hand basket with only one thing on my mind. When do we eat again? 

I’m that girl who writes to her hearts content. I’ve always believe that words are powerful. They’re emotional, spiritual and important. They can absolutely save you someday. You never know when. You never know how, and you probably won’t know why until it’s all said and done, but they’ll save you. 

You can catch me at the thrift store, Target or waiting in line at McDonald’s for McNuggets because that’s what my picky kids live off of right now. And it’s fine. We don’t eat healthy meals nightly. We don’t do keto or paleo. We do sanity. We do what works today. And hey, it’s 2020 - and we’re in the middle of losing a game of world Jumanji, who has any room to judge? 

I’m that girl. Yeah, the one who will walk up next to you in the grocery store and strike up a random conversation about the kind of cereal you’re buying. We’ll bond over being boy moms, and our kids not listening. I’ll probably say something awkward and we’ll go our separate ways. But you’ll probably go home and tell your husband about me, and how funny it was that the bags under my eyes still showed through all the concealer and my leggings were clearly on inside out. 

I’m gonna be the girl you remember, because if you need me I’m not going to question it. If you ask for my advice, I’m gonna give it. If you say you want me gone, I’m outtie. If you need me to be your plus one, suit up because I can look pretty decent with a layer of foundation and some cheap lipstick. 

I’m that girl. Lively. Real. Raw. Driven. And I’m always going to hug you, help you, and clap for you. I’m going to build you up and push you to chase your dreams. I’m a handful, but I figure that’s why you got two hands. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I don’t have it all together but I’m stitched together with real good intentions so that has to count for something. I’m forever going to be this girl, and I don’t change for anyone.

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Hope in faded pink.

To any woman picking this box up to stare at it in longing, in mourning, in hesitation. To wonder. To wish. To throw it in her shopping cart again this month. 

Throwing it in with hope. With fear. With premature excitement. With anticipation. With a sense of dread that it may just be another down the drain waste basket Walmart drop of $12.98.

To any woman who has pulled this test out of it’s box time and time again, only to cry in disappointment and frustration at that one faint negative line in the result window. Only to remember why this has been the hardest money to spend and the hardest pill to swallow. After all the treatments, injections, prescriptions, hormones, cycles, and positive feedback, how could there only be one single line? How? How could the test still be negative? Why, after everything, is completely crumbling to shambles her end result. How come nothing she has done been successful? How come not a single medical breakthrough has actually broken through? Is she a failure? Is all hope completely lost? 

To the woman who could own stock in these not so cheap little plastic sticks. Because no matter the difficulties she has faced or the hurdles she has struggled to jump, she never loses hope - hope that maybe this might finally be her month. Maybe this excruciating journey will come to an end, and she’ll finally get to make her first doctors appointment, and plan her announcement. Maybe she can tell her best friend during that joyful lunch date or video conference her family in another state. Maybe she can look forward to the good for a while and forget about the bad. 

To the woman who has picked this up in the store and put it back, because she can’t handle another heartbreaking night in the bathroom. She can’t handle another shower just to hide the gut wrenching sobs. The woman who walks past this test in Target, and gives it a soft glassy glance. “Why bother?” She asks herself. 

To the woman who took this test last week and got her positive. She got her wish. Her miracle. She got the one thing she had prayed fervently for. The woman who is on the table this week at her first ultrasound hearing no heartbeat, thinking back to the relief and joy she felt the moment the test in this pink box made all her dreams come true. Dreams now crushed - by devastation, by an unexpected and unwelcome fate. The woman who is now living with a broken heart, broken plans, broken dreams and broken promises. 

This test does not define you. This test does not make you more or less of a person. It’s thin, stained lines selfishly taunt some of your most valued, precious endeavors, but it does not define your goodness. It will never measure your womanhood, or your ability to love. It doesn’t compare you to others, and it doesn’t set your worth. 

Your life is incredibly valuable and at the end of the day, whether or not that second line appears, you are still strong. You’re still going to keep pressing on, and you’re going to be ok.

It is not your fault.

You are not broken. 

Your body is not damaged.

Your are still very much a woman. A woman who is no less than the women this comes effortless for. 

You deserve to achieve all of the things you set your mind to.

Your dreams, goals and life visions are and will always be worth chasing, no matter the cost.

It’s ok to ask questions. 

And it’s ok to ask the hard ones to God. 

This is not the end for you.

This battle is not your whole story.

The pain you feel is real, and yes, you should feel it to it’s full extremity. 

You should talk about it. 

You should keep fighting it, but only because you are 1 in 8 that are brave enough to. 

Sweet girl, do not let this downpour consume you. Do not let it become who you are or what you are about. If anything, allow it to give you a bigger voice. Allow it to become your motivation. Your power. Your direction to win this race you’re weary of running. 

I’m not going to say be patient. I’m not going to see try harder, or take a break, or “just relax.” I’m going to say, there are no realistic answers here. There are no incentives that exempt us from the trials and tribulations of life. No matter how much I wish there was, there just isn’t. There are no fairytales. There are no explanations for why things happen the way that they do, but - but I trust that there is a reason. There is an underlying purpose in our deepest, darkest struggle. Maybe it’s a beautiful, happy ending. Maybe it’s being the comfort and salvation someone else needs in this exact journey. Maybe it’s simply a small voice that whispers for us to get back up and try again tomorrow - because it is going to be ok. 

You, dear girl, are going to be ok. 

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