In an effort to be honest, I feel like I should tell you from the start that I am writing this post in a recliner with a heating pad on my back and enough Aleve in my system to survive the apocalypse. Our weekend at the Flying R Ranch in West Plains, MO was exhausting.
As we sat around the fire pit in the hotel courtyard and talked for hours, I suddenly felt my soul exhale. Every woman in that circle knew what it was like to hold your seizing daughter in your arms and pray she takes another breath. Every woman understood that strange mixture of devastation and relief that comes with a diagnosis. Every woman bears the scars of dreams that were ripped from her chest. Each of them understood the pressure of carrying this burden but somehow as we all shared our stories and shared the weight, it seemed to get a little lighter.