My aunt lives in a pop-up camper. Her husband died six months ago and left her with a ton of debt that wouldn’t allow her to pay her mortgage. She’s also a fifty-five-year-old bipolar chain smoker who looks twenty years older than she is.
My sister is almost three hundred pounds. She has a special needs son who just turned twenty. Tears come to her eyes every time she talks about him. Will he find love? Can he be emotionally strong enough to endure the ridicule? Will he be able to be successful in a world requiring so many skills he doesn’t possess?
My mother is sixty-nine years old. She’s struggling to settle into retirement because she’s worked her whole life. She’s not sure who she is anymore. She’s also dealing with her mortality, knowing that most of her life is behind her, and there’s nothing she can do about it.
My daughter is fifteen. She worries about first kisses and whether she’ll “do it right.” She scrolls Instagram and sees beautiful women she thinks she’ll never measure up to. She’s also OCD, taking therapy to help her understand the people she loves won’t die if she doesn’t open and close the door three times.
I’m forty-nine. I’m fighting wrinkles and boredom, and I’m crazily envious of my daughter’s periods because she has something I’ve lost forever. I have an anxiety disorder, and I drink much more than I should to escape the worry surrounding me. Unfortunately, like my aunt, I also smoke too much. And yes, I know my habits are unhealthy. However, I also know this mid-life crisis is too much of a bitch right now for me to try and be anything but what I am.
These beautiful, troubled women I just introduced you to are female family members with whom I just spent a girl’s weekend at the beach.
And it’s these same beautiful, troubled women who changed my life in those two days.
Why?
We talked about our lives. A lot.
And the best thing about our trip was the absence of a peanut gallery.
“Everybody is struggling. Everybody has their own demons to deal with. Their own struggles, their own wounds. Some dried long ago, others oozing with blood. So, it’s totally alright for you to struggle.” — Siddhi Khandagale
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There was no judgment when my aunt and I walked outside to puff away on sticks that shortened our life spans.
There was no recommendation that my sister eat an apple instead of the brownies she bought to munch on.
There was no scolding my daughter when she added filters to her selfies or texted her friends rather than talking with us.
There was only acceptance. And compassion. And the most beautiful thing?
There was an unspoken understanding that we were each soldiers fighting our own battles. A realization that what each of us truly needed wasn’t advice on a better battle plan but a nursemaid, someone to put salve on our wounds until we healed enough to go back out on the front lines.
Free: Scarred, struggling (but loving) sister to those in need
Maybe you hate your body, or you’re drowning in the depths of depression. Maybe your marriage is falling apart, or you’ve never tasted real love. Maybe you’re dying or just angry at yourself because you’ve spent most of your life never really living.
Hear this.
You and I.
We’re in this hot mess of a life together.
So if you need a sister, I’m here.
I won’t be your judge or jury. I won’t belittle your struggles by offering quick fixes. I won’t point out the scabs and scars and other defects you’ve gotten from trying to get through another day.
What will I do?
I will celebrate your strength to keep on fighting, even if your sword looks different from mine.
And just so you know, this is not a “limited time offer.” It’s a permanent one.
So hit me up if you need someone to listen. I’m only a keyboard away.
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This post was previously published MEDIUM.COM.
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