To be known.
To be loved by a tribe.
A sisterhood that was made in the awkward years, through fights where no blood lines tied you together, just the grit and hard work to make it through.
I count myself lucky to have these women. The ones who pull me up. Who daily connect with me to make sure my mind (and my children) are still intact.
The ones who have cried with me over love lost, stood next to me as I promised forever, have quietly encouraged me as I have welcomed babies into the world, who have cried with me over the imperfections of genetic codes, and celebrated the beauty of this life we live.
They have fed me, clothed me, and loved me through the hardest of growing pains.
My people- they are good people.