The absence and abundance of women in my life.

I never used to talk about personal challenges in this medium, my professional life. I thought that was because as a stone cold Bostonian “Its no ones fucking business”. But what I’ve come to accept in recent years is that I wasn’t a bad ass at all. I was afraid. I was afraid of judgment. I was afraid of not getting the opportunity, compared to the golden spoon-fed persona next to me. 

Then one day several years ago, this power house fearless woman introduced herself to our agency team, highlighting her mother-loss story. She spoke openly about how much the loss defined her as a human-being in all aspects of her life including work. I had never heard anyone do that before. It shocked me into sobriety around the topic. Without even knowing me, her bravery nudged me into transparency and vulnerability and I’ve been on that path ever since. I am so grateful for her. 

I am shaped equally by the absence of the most important woman in my life, and the abundance of women that followed. Today, International Women's Day 2024, compels me to pause and reflect. 

I never knew my mother. Meaning I have no memory of her as a child. I lost her to mental illness at a very young age. Because of a myriad of factors, I never saw her again except for a brief meeting as an adult (where we were strangers to each other) and then close to her death (and again, we did not know each other) . Nothing - absolutely nothing else that has happened to me or because of me -  shaped me more than not knowing her. I have achieved so much and come so far, and yet I would give it all up to go back and have my Mom. Wouldn’t everyone?

I had three amazing Grandmothers. Regardless of what little time we had together, their impact on me was profound. One, my Nana by marriage, brought donuts on the weekends, smelled of rose, and spoke to me like I was an adult from age 4. I don’t remember her saying “I love  you” but her voice had an undeniable undercurrent of love. She managed to make me feel seen, when in the world I felt invisible. I am so grateful to you Nana. RIP. 

My Dad’s Mom, Grammy Hutchins, whom we very rarely saw, was the quintessential British import, hard as nails, cold, and almost never a kind word for any of us. But to me she was a great love. I understood her love language. It was hard work. It was discipline. It was how to make the bed, the proper way to hand wash dishes, napkins in lap and guards up, mouth shut and always, always etiquette. She taught me how to sew too. The limited time we had was certainly productive. Yes, she was old fashioned and had some dated ideas on society and gender roles. I’m pretty sure our politics would have been in conflict were she alive today. Also, I’m pretty sure she was wretched to my Dad. But she had a steadfastness that I needed. Just me, selfishly. A few times over the course of my childhood, I stayed with her overnight. When I would squeeze my skinny butt between her tightly tucked sheets, I felt safe. She did that. And I will forever be grateful. RIP Grammy. 

My birth mother’s mom, Nonna GG, although I knew her in my early childhood, I had no memory of that time, so I met her in my late twenties. Seeing her was like stepping up to a mirror. For the first time in my life, here was someone who looked like me. Sounded like me too. For the nearly two decades that Nonna was in my life, she told me that I am beautiful and smart. I was hugged, squeezed. Loved. Overtly. She took my breath away. 

Take a minute to imagine what that was like. 

I was raised by traditional New Englanders. It was very common to have no emotion in family dynamics, to have emotions seen as a sign of weakness and to never ever speak of someone’s physical appearance, good or bad. We never heard “I love you” or “You are beautiful” or “You are smart”. 

Suddenly in comes this tall, striking woman, splashing her emotions all over the place like an overflowing martini in too small a glass. She made no apologies for being boisterous and beautiful and letting everyone know her every thought. She stood tall and gave her opinions without permission. She was a true feminist even though that word never escaped her lips. And dang, her force runs strong with this padawan. I look like her…as in exactly like her. We sang alike. We had the same laugh. And laughed at everything. Even things we shouldn’t like, cracking up at funerals. Before Nonna, I never knew where I got that uncontrollable and ever present joyfulness. It might be my greatest gift. It’s also true that I adopted some bad traits of her, like sometimes being careless with our words, unintentionally cruel. But dang if we don’t love like no one else can. If you were loved by Nonna, it was enough. And that is saying something in this life, isn’t it? 

I’m running out of time here. I will probably have to write a book someday. There are so many more stories I would love to tell of the women in my life. The absence of my mother was profound, but the women who were there, healed my cracks like the finest kintsugi pottery. Someday I hope I can tell all their stories. 

In the meantime, on this, International Women’s Day, I want to encourage you to think about the women in your life who lift you up. Make space for you. See you. Teach you. Challenge you. Understand you. Love you. Feel that feminine light glowing inside you, it connects us all. 

My challenges made me, me. My new vulnerability and transparency, once a source of shame, empower me, comfort me and light my path forward. 

I “am” because of the women that came before me. And I am grateful.