So this year. 2020. The dumpster fire that it is. It gave me some pretty incredible gifts. For example, this morning I poured coffee on a cocoa bomb that was left on my doorstep two nights ago by one of my dearest friends. A friendship that came to be because of the mess.
I should back up a little.
Since the beginning of the year, my kids' school district has offered the option of hybrid (and later full time in person) school or full time online synchronous school. From day one, my kids have been all online. It felt like the right thing to do, for a lot of reasons.
It also very quickly felt very lonely.
So I decided to do something brave. I made a Facebook support group for the families in my district whose kids were 100% online. Dozens of people joined. I suddenly felt at home, like I'd found my people.
And then something even more spectacular happened.
One of the wonderful moms in the group, M, sent me and a few other moms a group chat. Would we come to an outdoor, socially distant, happy hour in her backyard?
I think the 3 of them were already close. I was the outsider. I'd known A for years, moved in the same circles as L, and had met M once at a girl scout leaders meeting, but this was not a group I felt part of immediately. And yet. And yet I did.
So I went. Numbers were lower then, and none of us really went anywhere, and it was really safe enough. And it was lovely. Exactly what my soul needed.
But the most wonderful thing was that afterwards, the group chat continued. And I was included. I BELONGED. Because these were our people. Anxious moms with anxiety kids. Smart, socially conscious, kind women. The truest of the true hearts. Kindred spirits.
And I wouldn't have found them if it hadn't been for the flaming pile of shit that is 2020.
In the past week, those 3 friends all dropped off generous, thoughtful, creative gifts on my doorstep. A Joe Biden ornament. A wine glass decorated with the name of our group chat. A bag of candy and hot cocoa bombs. Gifts that weren't necessary at all because of course the real gift, the gift that Covid gave me, was finding a place I belong. It took my breath away.
But also, I was filled with shame and doubt. I didn't have anything to give to them. Certainly not anything as creative and thoughtful and they'd given me. So this, I thought, is where they realize I'm a fraud and exile me from the tribe. Where they realize I don't have any talent or worth and they don't need me after all. I don't have anything to give.
Nothing but my truth.
"Y'all want an essay?" I joked.
