Sometimes I'm Not Okay and Need My Friends
Words by Kris Ann Valdez
The soapy water ran through my fingers as I wondered to myself, “I’m not okay, right now. Why is this so hard for me?”
I just wanted to wash the dishes in peace. Maybe listen to a podcast or an audio book that wasn’t kid-centric. But the kids were in the background again arguing over a pillow fort and screaming my name— one of them committed a grievance against the other and they needed the judge. They are always there, always needing me. And the dishes are piling up and the laundry isn’t done and there’s something burning in the oven…
My life on paper isn’t hard. Sure, it was in the early years of our marriage when I wondered if we’d make it. And it wasn’t easy in the years we barely scraped by, getting down to the last dollar in our account or worse, overdrafting. Or when our newborn daughter teetered on the edge of life from a mysterious illness. Even this summer, when our house flooded and we lived in a construction zone for months, that was hard stuff.
But why, on an ordinary day, when I have the beautiful, sacred privilege of a pretty quiet, picket-fence life with two healthy children and a loving husband, washing my dishes, do I still feel this way sometimes?
A few nights after my philosophical dishwashing episode, I gathered with my mama tribe to honor a friend’s motherhood journey.
In the early years, before the kids were in school, we sat in each other’s homes and our morning play dates turned into making hodgepodge meals at lunchtime so we could chat a little longer. We planned girl’s nights to escape and feel the fresh air of adult company with clean hair and a little makeup. We created text message threads to laugh + learn + ask questions + coordinate play dates so we’d never have to go a week without connecting with each other.
Then those years ended. Friends moved away. Schedules filled up. But we still manage to come together. Some friends are even committed enough to FaceTime or fly in on important occasions.
Every time we meet it’s more beautiful than the last. We’ve lived more life, experienced new joys and sufferings to bring and lay at the table. We cry. We laugh. We hold each other tight. We pray and lean and confess and support each other. And every time, our bond grows deeper and our hearts feel more at peace.
This friend— who we were supposed to be honoring that night— honored us more by opening up to us about struggling the last year with heightened anxiety and depression. She, too, has a beautiful life on paper.
In fact, all of us at that gathering appear to have it pretty together raising our little families. Outsiders might call us strong. Resilient. Capable. Fortunate. But when we met, the softest whisper, “You too?” went around the room. You, even you, struggle sometimes?
There, surrounded by my closest confidantes, I was reminded that life isn’t easy for anyone. Because the stressors of metaphorical lost buttons and misplaced socks will always be there.
This thing called life is funny. It can be precious and sweet and full, or cruel and harsh and lonely— and everywhere in between those two extremes.
It can have euphoric highs and deep-down lows, even on the same day. In the same fifteen minutes, if you’re a toddler.
So how do we do it in the moments we just aren’t okay?
This thing called life, we were born to do it. We are better when we do it together.
But as I write this, my state is currently on a quarantine lockdown. We are at home, discouraged from social gatherings. The words I wrote above about gathering together are suddenly irrelevant to our circumstances.
Or, are they? This little tribe of mine planned a ZOOM happy hour last week. I begrudgingly attended— I thought I highly disliked large online chats like that. But then I saw a friend in her wedding dress. She smiled and waved; said she was wearing it for us.
I knew in that moment how much I needed that call. Because we must stay connected the best we can, whether that’s driving past a friend’s porch to check in on them from six feet away, or writing old-fashioned letters, or Facetiming or Zoom happy hours… we all need each other.
Stay safe, friends. Stay connected.
About the Author:
Krisann is an Arizona native and night novelist. Put simply, when the children are tucked into bed, the writing begins. Her first novel— a speculative fiction for YA readers— is currently in the hands of an editor and she has two upcoming pieces in the online publication, For Women Who Roar. She has a degree in English Literature and dabbles in all things self-taught.
👇 Share this post and help other women who need to hear they’re not alone. 👇