When my daughter was first diagnosed, I walked around in shock. For months that felt like years. I stopped brushing my teeth. I stopped taking care of myself. I would look in the mirror and not recognize the person looking back at me. A colleague told me I had lost so much weight so quickly that I looked “fragile.” I kept busy. Overly busy. I read everything I could get my hands on. I researched diet options. I cooked those foods on repeat—complicated recipes that took a long

When my daughter got sick, she was eight years old. I was working two jobs, because that’s what it took. The first time I called out of my second job, it was okay. The second time, the following week, the response I got was an incredulous: “Really? Still?” I should have taken that as a harbinger of things to come. Of the reactions. Of the level of support I was going to get along the way. But I was so scared. I was watching my daughter waste away in front of me, with no clear

It was the COVID era, and hindsight clearly shows that my daughter wasn’t a “problem child.” She was getting an obstruction due to scarring. Labs don’t show that. There was no clear indication beyond me knowing it in my bones something was wrong. This is not how kids act. This is not how MY kid acts. I needed time to find answers. So, for the first time ever, I requested extended FMLA leave. Not, “I’ll work but take a day here and there,” like I had done before. No more juggl

I didn’t realize how many kinds of “That Moms” there are on the internet until I looked it up… Horse moms. Fun moms. Catholic moms. Organic moms. “Perfect” moms. So let me be clear about the kind of mom I created 100% That Mom for. The ones who are a pain in the ass for the best possible reason. I never wanted to be a pain. But I was. Because my kid needed me to be. Because her life was my entire world, and suddenly that world was upside down. And it made me feel alon