I have a strong sense that I use to be unhappy because I believed I shouldn’t have to take a front row seat to discomfort or pain.

I was offended by the idea that I may hurt, struggle, or even suffer in this life. I use to view women who leaned into suffering as uppity; seeking a participation trophy that doesn’t exist.

Now that I’m facing an imminent childbirth, an uncertain motherhood and some new sets of challenges, shifts and role changes I assure you, a trophy is not what I have my sights on.

This one’s different from my last few newsletters. It’s not a story from my past, it’s something that’s been burning a hole in me the last few months.

The first two times I tried to sit down and write this, I was so angry and resentful I terrified myself upon rereading them. Learning to settle into forgiveness and understanding is not my strong suit. Say something fucked up and I probably won’t let it go… Oops! Looks like you’ve been added to my naughty list. Three strikes and you’re out. Maybe my mommy issues are showing.

We live in a country that has been captivated by shows like Yellowstone, where millions of followers flood to Instagram accounts featuring influencing cowgirl wannabes, hobby ranchers, and rodeo fashionistas. Post Malone now sings in Wranglers, and Beyoncé performs in assless chaps, because this life is now for everyone. A cosplay that you think would amplify cultural respect, preservation, and rekindle God-fearing values, but is mostly a fashion show; a Hollywood exploitation, a chance to move out West, buy land with cash sight unseen that you have no real respect for, just to jack up the cost of living for locals, get bored after a year, and eventually move back to your shitty condo in LA because, “winter in the Rockies is, like, really really cold.”

Maybe it’s pregnancy, maybe it’s just that Father’s Day is around the corner. Either way, it stirs up so much of my grief — namely, my longing to know him better and to understand him, even though he’s gone.

When I approached her, I instantly noticed my favorite view in my limited experience thus far: the face of a proud first-time mother, exhausted but beaming with a radiance of love. She was somehow so familiar and unrecognizable at the same time.