If I Could Go Back

An Ode to my Clients, Friends, and all the Mamas I have Known

If I could go back, I would apologize to all the mamas—my friends, my clients, my family too.

I would say to each of them: I am sorry that I thought I understood.

I would praise each of my clients with even more appreciation and awe for their ability to prioritize time and money for themselves—to wake up at 5 a.m. just to sit in a coaching session, to listen to their hearts and bodies and dreams. If only I knew what each of those women had to push through and carry just to sit with me, face-to-face, week after week.

If I could go back, I would be there for the sick nights, the exhaustion, the unseen struggles for my friends who are moms. When one of my best friends of 20 years was home alone with her infant, her three-year-old puking, all of them sick, and her partner at work—I wish I had done more than just say: “Oh, that must suck love. I’m so sorry you’re sick.” I wish I had truly listened to her, sent soup, checked in, understood how scary and all-consuming it is to care for little ones who are ill.

If I could go back, I would have also have more compassion for the mothers I silently judged. I walked into their homes, saw the unmade beds, the dishes in the sink, the toys on the floor, and thought: “I won’t do that. When I’m a mom, I will try and always keep my house clean.” I judged the unshaven legs, the wrinkled clothes, the grey roots. I thought to myself: “I’ll keep up all my beauty routines and habits.”

(Ha!)

If I could go back, I would take those silly judgmental thoughts and throw them into the fucking sea, let them dissolve and regenerate. Or burn them in a fire, watching them rise as little phoenixes of understanding and grace, begging them to transform into something good, kind, and whole.

I would be easier on those mothers—just as I am learning to be easier on myself.

When a mother asked for what she needed, or didn’t ask, but shared her woes (cause mostly we don’t ask) I wish I had listened more carefully. I wish I had understood that in a day where a mother’s own needs are constantly set aside for another human, just speaking a need out loud is an act of radical vulnerability. And I wish I had met her in that moment with the depth of care she deserved and met her needs in this fragile sweet moment of her life.

If I could go back, I would apologize for sometimes being a self-centered woman, caught up in my own travels and romances, constantly thinking about me. I am so sorry I missed out on flying to see the baby when it was small, or sending gifts on birthdays, or FaceTiming with the kids more often.

If I could go back, I wouldn’t judge a mother for how she fed her child, how the child slept, what the child wore. I would give her so much more grace, more softness, more trust—knowing that she is doing her absolute best.

Fuck. There is no going back. But there is going forward.

And I was doing the best I could. And that is just fine too.

And yet, I wish for all of us to be kinder, gentler, more graceful with our mothers, our friends who are mothers, our clients too, and the women we see at the grocery store and gas station and airports who need a hand or heart.

Because we live in a village-less world.

We weren’t meant to raise children in isolation.

We weren’t meant to mother from the void, from an empty well.

We need each other. Whether it’s a voice note, a FaceTime call, a text, a meal at the door, a gift in the mail, a visit, a hand at the store, a smile to a stranger—these gestures are not small. They are the repairing, the rebuilding of what should have never been lost:

A future where no mother, no father, no couple carries the weight of parenting alone.

Where the joy, the wonder, the awe of raising a child is shared.

This is my wish.

For my past, for my daughter, for our future.

For all of us.

*Inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow mama yesterday, Ember, who has texted me all the natural remedies for flu and sickness over the last month and left soup at the door when we were all sick, and who also holds the vision for a future where mamas are supported.