Love is my close mom friend putting me in bed, rubbing lotion on my feet, and staying until I fall asleep after the exhaustion of postpartum depression and anxiety have set in for the day. Love is my mom who always answered the phone each morning so I could walk laps around my neighborhood, sobbing to her that I would never get better.
Love is my husband coming to therapy with me so he could better understand what was I was going through and how to support me.
Love is my husband sending me flowers just to tell me he is proud of the fight I am putting up.
Love is my sister crying on the phone to me because she is worried and just wants ME to be okay.
Love is my sister holding my hand in person and from afar because she knows what it’s like to feel how I feel.
Love is my best friends talking and emailing behind my back because they want me to get healthy and happy.
Love is my best friend celebrating when she realizes the old Jen is back.
Love is speaking out, asking for help, and accepting treatment so I can be the best possible mom to my son.
Love is overwhelming when I think of how much I have of it for him.
Love is when he kisses my lips, tells me he loves me, that I’m pretty, his best friend, and melts me into mush.
Love is what fills my heart every night I watch him sleeping.
Love is your friends who aren’t afraid to tell you the truth, call you out on your bullshit, even when it’s hard, even if I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.
Love is the same friends who accept you as you are and never judge or shame.
Love is my dad telling me have big balls because I’m not afraid to ask for what I want and need.
Love is being able to save a friend’s life by just being there to listen and tell her she’s not alone.
Love is my husband knowing what I’m going to do before I even do it.
Love is sometimes not having to say anything at all.
Love is a weekend girls trip to reminisce, catch up, and take some time off from adulting.
Love is the connection I feel to the incredible tribe of Campowerment women.
Love is my husband sharing me often with these fabulous women.
Love is my husband taking our son to Chuck E. Cheese so I can sleep late (and because I hate Chuck E. Cheese).
Love is when he lets me have the last sushi roll and piece of chocolate cake.
Love is wandering the streets of New York City and Paris.
Love is the Soul Cycle class that ends with me crying.
Love is Peter Lugers steak dinner for 2 with hash browns and creamed spinach.
Love is a 2 AM pizza delivery because…I drank too much.
Love is an endless bowl of pasta.
Love is a warm chocolate chip cookie with coffee ice cream on top.
Love is treating myself with respect, compassion, and kindness.
Love Is learning to put my happiness first and how to live in authenticity.
Love is learning how to pay it forward.
Love is being a trench buddy for other moms.
Love is all those moments from the entire movie of your life you wish you could bottle, hold on to, and remember forever—the friends who always show up, never judge, always support, and never out your skeletons. The family members that love you unconditionally and the men who lift us up and make us better women, and our children who show us the world all over again from a unique perspective of wonder and lots of silliness.
This post originally appeared on Mogul.