Yesterday, I dropped my middle son off at a birthday party. You know the drill — quick check-in with the hosts, fake a smile, sprint back to my car because I've got a list a mile long. Drop-offs are like pit stops in NASCAR. Efficiency is the name of the game.Pick-ups, though? Pick-ups are a whole different beast.
There's always a delay — kids taking “just five more minutes” to say their goodbyes, scrambling for lost sweatshirts and half-eaten cupcakes. So there I was, standing awkwardly around a bunch of parents I didn’t really know. And if you’re anything like me, you know how easy it would have been to just scroll my phone, nod politely, and count the seconds until we could leave. But something inside me doesn’t sit still in those moments.
I want to connect.
I want to see people, and be seen.
I want to remind myself — and everyone else — that we’re not as alone as we sometimes think. So I started telling stories. Dumb stories. Real stories.
Stories about the weird things my kids say, about the chaos of parenting, about the way some days feel like winning and some days feel like surviving. And before long, one of the moms said something that hit me hard:
"I'm so glad to be talking to other parents about this stuff. It makes me feel like I'm not the only one."
There it was.
Connection.
Truth.
Relief.
All from a few minutes of honest conversation while waiting for our kids to (finally) clean up their frosting-covered tornado aftermath.
It made me think:
How often do we feel like we’re the only ones struggling?
How often do we think we’re screwing up parenting, marriage, careers — life — while everyone else has it figured out? Listen, man — life is hard.
Parenting is hard.
Marriage is hard.
Being a halfway decent human being is hard.
Even the stuff that’s "supposed" to be beautiful is still hard. I told that group about how hard I fought to adopt our boys.
How we fought courts, fought rejection, fought heartbreak.
How I still have days where my son, in a fit of anger, yells that I’m not his real dad and he wishes he could be with his real parents.
Yeah, that's a punch in the gut every time.People always hear our story and say, “Wow, that’s amazing. You’re amazing.”
And honestly? I laugh.
Not because I don’t love our story — I do.
But because I see it for what it really is: messy, raw, beautiful, broken, real life.
Not a perfectly cropped Instagram moment.
A real story — with pain and victory tangled up together.And guess what?
That’s every story.
Every. Single. One.
So if you’re sitting there wondering why everyone else seems to be doing better than you —
if you're carrying shame about the struggles you think no one else understands —
if you feel like you’re failing in ways you can’t even put into words —
you’re not alone. None of us are nailing this.
None of us have it all figured out.
We’re all just doing the best we can with what we’ve been given. So show up.
Tell your story.
Be honest, even if your voice shakes a little.
You never know who’s standing there thinking they’re the only one — until you open your mouth and remind them they’re not.
Your Turn:
Think of one moment this week that felt like a “mess” — and instead of hiding it, share it. Tell a friend, a coworker, your kid, your spouse.
You don’t have to carry it alone.
None of us do.
#RealLife #RealTalk #KeepGoing