I want to hear, “You can do it.”I want her hand on my shoulder like, “Baby, I’m right here.”I want that hug that somehow resets my whole nervous system in 30 seconds flat. We joke about Adam Sandler’s Bobby Boucher—“My momma said…”—but tell me you don’t secretly want that. We all do.

Our humor isn’t just funny—it’s connective tissue. It reminds people we’ve been here all along, and we’re still the ones holding it together. Here’s the truth bomb: being forgotten isn’t a wound—it’s freedom. While everyone else was scrambling for approval, we were learning to live without it. That gave us the power to reinvent ourselves endlessly.

This wound isn’t loud and dramatic. It’s quiet. It sneaks into the corners of our kids’ adulthood and shows up in ways we don’t always connect back to us.

Strong ain’t always cute. People clap for my strength but forget to ask how they can help. I love being the go-to, but sometimes I don’t want applause for carrying it all — I want relief. Being called Superwoman sounds nice, but living it feels heavy. TGL is about saying enough: strong women need softness too.