The young mom whose own mom chose meth and alcohol over being a mom and she is now learning to be a mom, without a mom.
The young adult woman who bounces from family member to family member in search of belonging and her ‘place’ in the world. Never quite sure where she fits in, struggling to define ‘self’ in a split family.
The working mom who is emotionally drained and physically stretched who comes home to a son that is challenging and demands every ounce of reserves to parent. She feels alone and questions how she can be so brilliant at work and yet not have answers for her own son.
The single woman who travels the world in almost complete solitude and fear because her experiences have taught her that no one can be trusted.
The woman who is a pillar of her community yet fights an internal battle that she numbs with alcohol and no one knows.
The middle aged woman who fights a battle with depression, wears scars on her face that tell of past experiences and struggles daily to overcome past failures.
The woman who is homeless yet puts on business clothes every day to go to a job that doesn’t pay enough to cover rent and daycare...she chooses daycare to keep her kids safe when she can’t be with them.
The 20, 30, 40, 50 something female who swiped right looking for some sort of love and connection and now lays next to this stranger filled with grief and embarrassment at her actions. Her self worth plummets as she walks to her car and wonders when she’ll give up this chase.
The wife, whose marriage from the outside looks fine, but she hasn’t touched her husband and he hasn’t touched her in months. They barely speak. They gave up fighting years ago. What remains is apathy and loneliness.
The 80 year old who lives alone, husband passed, kids grown and distant, fighting the battle of a decaying body while her heart and mind are still vital. Struggling to accomplish even the simplest of tasks, defeated and disgusted with the ravages of age.
We see these wounded women every day. At work. At the store. In the mirror.
They - we, I - walk among you every day. We are not carrying signs, marching in rallies, posting hashtags crying me too. We are fighting the fight to carry these wounds while we care for our partners, children and co-workers. We carry these wounds while simultaneously searching for healing and a life that makes sense.
The wounds become scars and no longer openly bleed. We warrior on as partners, mothers, workers...wounded.
