May pulled a lot out of me. It made me confront the painful reality that the weight I carry is mine alone. I truly understand that consistency, love, and stability my children need begins and ends with me. As hard as that truth is to accept, it has also reminded me just how strong I have had to become.

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There’s a particular kind of whiplash that can come with entering your 30s. It is looking around at your actual life then quickly realizing it does not quite match the highlight reel you may have started building in your head or Pinterest saves in your early 20’s. 

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For all the praise women get for being strong, nobody talks openly about what that strength quietly costs. Folk’s love calling women “independent,” as if it is always some badge of honor, but baby, they do not say much about how lonely it can feel. I am talking about when you have become so used to carrying yourself that softness starts to feel like a luxury. 

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Ovulation in my 30s is intense. See, I can be minding my business, on my phone sending audio messages, and the next minute I am craving chocolate, eggs with fish sauce, emotional intimacy, and somebody’s grown and sexy son all at the same time. 

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