Just the other day, I got a text from one of my good friends asking if I wanted some cacti she was thinning out. It was one of the first actual “spring” days this year, and she – like many others – was out doing yard work.
In typical Cassidy fashion, I was slow to respond (OK, a couple of hours slow). But always admiring her cactus garden, I quickly shot her a “I’ll be over in 15” text and headed over.
I made sure to keep my daughter buckled in her car seat because it was nearing the time some people start making dinner, and I didn’t want to be a bother. But with kids around the same age as my daughter running up to her car window, it was like trying to keep a hungry hyena tied down. So I caved.
The kids ran around, amped up on each other’s energy and vitamin D. We snuck in bits of conversation between the “Mom! Can you get me this?” and “Mom! Mom! Mom! Look at us!” – with the occasional pause to make sure everyone was still accounted for.
If you know, you know.
A little while later, my daughter was escorted back by the others with blood all over her hands. They had been playing with a toad, and I guess the play had turned a little rough – for the toad, that is. My quick “drop by” turned into an hour-long visit and a trek through her house to wash some pretty disgusting hands.
After we got home, my friend texted me apologizing for the chaos – for the moments she thought she was yelling too much and for what she considered a messy house. Of course, I hadn’t noticed any of that and reassured her everything was just fine. What I didn’t have the words for at the time, and what I really wanted her to know, is that I actually appreciate the real and the raw. I’ve always felt a connection to her because she is, in fact, human.
Pop over to my house unannounced and you’ll find a lawn that should’ve been mowed probably two days ago, laundry waiting to be folded, and heaven forbid we have to go in the garage – that place is the epitome of sweeping things under the rug. But beyond that, I’ve got my internal struggles too. I’ve never been a patient person, and the toddler stage of 20 questions is like a persistent mosquito buzzing in my ear. I have to work daily on my mental health, and writing these editorials still makes me feel insecure.
All this came to mind when I read this month’s cover story about the R.L. Brown Farms family in Jerome. They bravely opened up about the challenges within their family dynamic and how counseling and faith helped save relationships and sustain their business. A vulnerable thing to share – but one so many family-run operations can relate to.
It’s hard to share the not-so-ideal parts of our lives. We live in an era where we’re expected to perfectly curate the best moments and always put our best foot forward. But what I’ve learned after years of writing people’s stories is this: We all have one, full of ups and downs, twists and turns. The successes matter, but it’s the vulnerability of the trenches that makes others feel like they can get there too.
I still do a thorough deep clean when my in-laws are coming to stay. (I mean, what kind of wife would I be if my baseboards aren’t clean?) And yes, I still paint on a smile when I’m feeling down. But I’m learning that vulnerability – real, unfiltered, messy-life vulnerability – is what truly connects us. We could all use more of that.
