I preach to always be transparent, to be frank, to keep it real, and to be vulnerable. I haven’t been keeping it real. I’ve been acting as though I’m fine. I’ve been saying I’m ok when I’m not, been smiling on the outside, but crying on the inside. I’m bummed. I’m lonely. I’m sad. I feel invisible.

When my husband got home, today after work, I wept. I cried. I told him I feel overlooked, like an errand runner, like a piece of furniture, a chore helper, a meal creator, a maid, a lunch maker, and a taxi cab. Sometimes I feel like that’s all I am. I feel like I don’t matter in this big wide world, that rarely do people reach out to me just to see how I’m doing, that I have to be the one to connect  with others, that I always have to initiate having play dates with those around me, that texts to friends go unanswered and it hurts when I get ignored by those I love, and that it’s not fair that others don’t make me a big deal. And then he said something profound, “What is it that you want, Mel?”

I want connection. I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to be relevant.

I want to be face to face with people who love me, care for my well-being, who give a shit about who I am and what I’m up to. I want to be in the presence of caring people that don’t care if my house looks like a freaking tornado or that my hair is a matted mess. I want to be in the company of real people that see my soul for what it is, people that I can be myself around, people I can cry with, laugh with, eat junk food with, and be myself with. & then he said, “What have you done to make that happen?” I thought for a moment and said, “I texted one friend and she didn’t get back to me and I’ve been bummed for days over it.” And he looked at me and said, “Keep trying, Mel, keep trying.” & then he initiated a cuddle session and let me cry.

There are moments after I drop off my kids at school that I miss the sound of Hope’s laugh & I miss seeing James ear to ear grin in the sunglasses mirror above my rear view. The car seats are left vacant & there is something missing. My heart hurts a wee bit when I think about all the empty minutes and hours I’ll have without my children to keep me company. There are days I don’t speak to any adults at all, but maybe for a single moment in quick passing.

Loneliness is felt. I miss the sound of toys beeping & the sound of bitty feet scurrying across our tile floor. Lonely. Sometimes, as a stay at home working mom, I feel very alone, very all alone. Loneliness washes over me like a not so fun rain cloud. I miss human interaction. I miss connection. I miss recognition. I miss my family.

The truth is the life of a stay at home mom can be very lonely and isolating and distant and sad. Loneliness is no friend of mine. I’ve decided that I am going to text friend after fried after friend after friend and invite them on play date after play date after play date after play date until I get a “yes.” I’m going to continue to do that until I feel less lonely.

My stepfather had to go into the hospital for a few nights while we were visiting. My Mama was lonely when she went to sleep, as his side of the bed was left vacant & that was hard for Mama to wrap her mind around after sleeping with him night after night. 30 years of marriage is a lot of nights to sleep next to your person. We were walking out of the hospital room when Vince signaled to his bride for one last smooch & then he whispered in her ear, “Keep my side of the bed warm.” Mama tried to muster a smile, but sadness washed over her instead. Alone, she would feel all alone.

There are many many  moments in time when fathers become very lonely when they realize they are oh so close to their baby being born. While there’s joy, there’s a sense of sadness too, a twinge of fear that they’ll be left behind in the midst of midnight feedings, bottle cleanings, swaddling, rocking sessions, that their wives will forget they exist & have needs at all because she’ll be all too consumed with her new beautiful & messy role of motherhood. She’ll look for any and every moment to catch a cat nap and her husband will be replaced with a beautiful bundle of fresh baby smells & he will, inevitably, feel invisible & alone & unseen & their will be a vacancy there between husband and wife- a wide space of emptiness & a deep sense of loneliness. He’ll feel alone & unimportant & unnecessary & invalid & irrelevant & she won’t even know she’s doing it to him because she’s just trying to stay afloat & survive herself. What he won’t know  is the very thing that keeps her afloat all along is him.

“I’m fine” is becoming a tagline & a figure of speech, lately. Frankly, I don’t like those two words. Why is it that people say “I’m fine” when they really aren’t? Why are people afraid to admit when they aren’t fine? & why do people who admit they’re not fine, later act as if they are?

I admire those that are brave enough to say they aren’t fine, to sit in their truth, to be fearfully transparent, to be uncomfortably real, & to be vulnerable. I admire those that sit with me when I’m not fine & say, ‘me too.’ In all honesty, we can relate to each and every human being that crosses our path. We can all relate to suffering, as we’ve all suffered somehow. & we shall share our suffering with those that suffer to help them heal through their own. Brene Brown, my idol, says that vulnerability is not weakness, but rather our greatest measurement of courage. Vulnerability is the birthplace for innovation, creativity, and change. She says the two most powerful words are: me too.

It is when we embrace others,  get on their level,  listen to what they have been through,  truly hear them, see them,  spend time with them, make sure they are seen, & be sure they are heard, that matters. If only we’d take the time to give our fellow-man a safe platform to speak his or her truth & to ensure those people are heard & are reassured they matter & that it is ok to be whomever they are, as they are, to reassure them there is nothing wrong with any of them & to lead them to whatever help they may require through the millions and millions of social workers, therapists, psychiatrists, psychologists, that are available to help take them from trauma to healing, to take them from lonely to seen, to take them from broken to whole, again.

It’s in the listening we have for one another that counts. It’s in the grace we have for others that matters. It’s in the time we spend with those we know & those we don’t. It’s having a listening ear. It’s having an open mind & a caring heart that matters. It’s when we can lay all of our knowing down and create space for another human being. It’s when we park our junk at the door & stay silent, while we listen to others share their truth. We earn the right to hear the stories of how others got to be who they are & we find out how we can be of service to that person, whether they ask for it or not.

Be on the lookout for whom you can embrace and take in to listen and be a friend. Maybe it’s the boy or girl on the playground with no friends. Maybe it’s the varsity cheerleader. Maybe it’s the homeless man or woman on the street. Maybe it’s the elderly woman who recently lost her husband. Maybe it’s the stay at home mom that looks like she has it altogether, but is falling apart. Maybe it’s the bitchy sister that seems to be on cloud 9.

Make space in your heart for everyone. Look for ways to bless the masses. Be of a giving spirit. Offer your heart to those you see & be on the look out for ways to uplift the spirits and hearts of your fellow-man.