Two years ago, my son Jackson and I were going through a really hard time. It was the ultimate power struggle and it was sucking the peace out of our home. It had been just the two of us for so long. His dad and I separated when he was eight months old. And even though my older son Bryce was still home, with an age difference of 15 years, Jackson was raised like an only child. He thought he was the man of the house. I can see how he thought that … it’s a symptom of a single parent home, especially a boy and his mom.

I couldn’t see my life past two marriages. Although I wanted intimacy, I couldn’t dare take the risk of failing a third time. It’s obviously something I’m not capable of doing. Friends and family confirmed that. “Your picker is broken.” “It can’t be all their fault.” And they were right.

As I started my career, I felt as though I was well educated and prepared. But, I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared to hear comments like, “I thought she was just cute, she has a brain too.” “Come sit in my lap while you tell me about it.” And one morning, as I entered a meeting a few minutes late into a room full of men, the gentleman said, “Oh! Thank goodness she’s here, she can take the notes.”