by Kayla Myers, Peer Support coordinator

July 21, 2025

Every year, National Parents’ Day comes and goes, and honestly, I didn’t even know it existed until a few years ago. There are no balloons or wrapped gifts. No themed parties, school plays, or glittery cards like we see on Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. And honestly? That’s what makes it feel more real to me.

Parenting doesn’t usually look like a greeting card. It’s unfiltered. It’s behind the scenes. It’s deeply personal. It’s also the hardest, but most sacred, thing I’ve ever done.

Parenting is early mornings with tired eyes and late nights filled with worry. It’s asking myself, Did I say the right thing? Was I too soft? Too strict? Too distracted? Too emotional? Am I giving them enough? Am I enough? It’s making a thousand decisions a day and second-guessing at least half of them. It’s pouring from a cup that sometimes feels empty, and still showing up the next day with whatever strength I can find. Because their love keeps me going.

And yet, even in the chaos, there is so much beauty.

There’s laughter that echoes through the house, sometimes because of something silly, sometimes for no reason at all. There are milestones—and messy milestones. Little victories that might go unnoticed by the world, but mean everything to us. There are those quiet, sacred moments when I look at my kids and catch a glimpse of the people they’re becoming, and I think, “I get to be their mom.” That thought alone has carried me through some of the toughest days.

Parenting doesn’t come with a manual. I learned that fast the day I brought my oldest home from the hospital. And no two parenting journeys look the same. There are seasons of pure joy, and there are seasons that feel like sheer survival. I’ve had to learn to let go of the idea that I need to do it all on my own. I’ve leaned on the support of other parents. I’ve asked for help, even when it was hard. And I’ve reminded myself that perfection isn’t the goal, presence is.

So this month, in honor of National Parents’ Day, I want to pause and recognize all of us who are simply doing the best we can.

Whether you’re a birth parent, adoptive parent, foster parent, bonus parent, grandparent raising grandchildren, or a chosen parent, your love matters. Your consistency matters. YOU matter.

Let’s keep building each other up. Let’s offer grace instead of guilt. Let’s remind ourselves—and each other—that even on the hardest days, we are doing something deeply meaningful.

Because at the heart of parenting lies a quiet, powerful truth: we are shaping lives with our love. It may be messy. It may be imperfect. But it is real and it is enough.

From one parent to another: Happy National Parents’ Day. You’re doing better than you think.

With love and solidarity,
A fellow mom who gets it

(Edited and Enhanced by ChatGPT)

by Kayla Myers, Peer Support coordinator

June 24, 2025

I’m a mom of boys, loud, messy, hilarious, curious, deep-feeling boys.

And if I’m honest, one of my greatest hopes, besides them eventually learning to do their laundry and clean up after themselves, is that they grow into men who feel safe being whole. Not just strong or stoic or successful. But soft when they need to be. Honest. Vulnerable. Supported.

Because here’s the truth, one I’ve heard from every mom of boys and quietly carried myself: the world still struggles to let our sons be fully human.

We tell our kids, “It’s okay to cry,” but somewhere between kindergarten and manhood, that message gets lost. Replaced by phrases like “man up,” “don’t be soft,” and “real men don’t talk about their feelings.” And those words don’t just bounce off; they sink in. They settle deep.

As moms, we see their hearts before the world tells them to hide them. We see the quiet anxiety before the tough-guy mask forms. We know the pressure they carry in silence, the self-doubt buried behind humor, the frustration when they don’t have the words to explain what’s going on inside.

June is Men’s Mental Health Awareness Month. And if it reminds me of anything, it’s this:

We don’t just need to raise good men.
We need to raise whole men.

Men who know it's okay to ask for help.
Men who’ve had practice expressing what they feel.
Men who’ve seen someone care about what’s happening beneath the surface.

Here’s what I’m doing, or I should say, what I’m trying, daily:

• I ask them how they’re feeling, and I try not to rush past the silence.
• I talk about therapy like it’s normal, because it is.
• I praise emotional honesty just as much as achievements.
• I work on asking for help myself, because they’re always watching.

In my eyes, no boy should grow up believing his feelings make him weak.

So, whether you're a parent, an aunt, a coach, a teacher, or a friend, be part of the voice that says:

You don’t have to pretend you're okay when you’re not.
You’re not less of a man for needing support.
You’re more of one for knowing when to reach out.

To my sons, and all the boys growing into men:
Your mind matters.
Your emotions matter.
You matter.

Let’s raise them to believe it.

(Edited and Enhanced with ChatGPT)

By Kayla Myers, Family Peer Supporter

March 11, 2024

I had a revelation recently and am still unsure how to correct this coping mechanism I acquired on my journey through life. I guess at this point acknowledging and identifying this within myself is currently the stage I am in. So, I thought this would be a good way to reflect through writing and see if any more revelations transpire my growth. “Carpe Diem” is a Latin term meaning “Seize the day”. This can inspire the idea of living in the moment or for today, so we aren’t wasting what little time we have on this earth worrying about what has already happened or what is to come.

I was recently re-exposed to the idea of perfectionism. Identifying as someone who struggled with perfectionism didn’t ring true for me when I heard this idea brought up long ago. To me perfectionism meant you kept your spaces tidy, and your hair and makeup were always done, you were an overachiever, and things had to be perfect in your mind until you could be proud of yourself or the work you accomplished. I do not need things to be perfect to live a life that feels good to me. But when we dove into the layers of perfectionism, something hit me like a ton of bricks. I realized that I had this invisible report card inside of me where I was being graded and I was the one grading myself. I have zero idea of what I am being graded on or my expectations for myself, but it's there. How can I live up to this potential of a bogus scoring system that I allowed to control my self-worth and not offer myself grace when I don’t succeed? I feel like I owe myself an apology for setting such unfair terms to measure my success and when I fail, my worth always crumbles in my hands.

I have always been a kind soul. The one that roots for the underdog and wants to believe that we are all good underneath the layers of our lives and journeys that either left us better or battered. We are all trying to do the best job we know how to do with the tools we have in our toolkits. I offer grace and understanding to everyone around me and keep in mind that I have zero idea about the battles they are fighting every day. All these things come so naturally to me, but I have a hard time offering these same ideas to myself. I am hard on myself. I am my own worst enemy sometimes. Trying to live up to an unrealistic inhuman standard I set for myself long ago. Hey, I should start now, I am proud of myself for being able to identify the pattern I am in and give it life by acknowledging it's there and breathing into it to see what I need so I can sink deeper into my authentic self. I am also proud of myself because I recognize it's time to start offering myself the same grace and compassion that I offer others and to acknowledge I am a human and doing my best every day.

Carpe Diem- I pledge to myself to keep this mantra in the forefront of my mind. When I feel uneasy about what is happening around me, in my body, or mind, I am going to remind myself that the only thing I am in control of is my response to what is uncomfortable. I will let my invisible report card take a rest so I am not keeping track of all my faults, and I will offer myself the grace to learn and do differently next time. I am a perfectly capable but flawed human being. My expectation of me is to live a life that feels good, not one that looks perfect to everyone else.

by Mandy Waite, Assistant Director

September 5, 2023

The past year has taken me on a whirlwind journey through the intricate tapestry of recovery. It has been a spellbinding blend of breathtaking highs that I never thought possible and grueling challenges that have reminded me of the continuous effort required to uphold the progress I've made.

In the beginning of this transformative year, I found myself stepping into the role I had long yearned for - Assistant Director of Montana's peer network. This was more than just a job; it was a dream woven into my aspirations. The path, however, was strewn with thorns of anxiety, especially when it came to conquering my fear of driving on the Interstate. As someone who grapples with panic disorder, the mere thought of this journey was a tempest of trepidation.

Undeterred by my own limitations, I was resolute in my belief that I wouldn't allow fear or the shackles of mental illness to hinder my progress. I embarked on a journey of resilience, undergoing six intense weeks of EMDR therapy tailored to dissolve the tendrils of anxiety gripping me. The echoes of my therapist's soothing words became my companions as I ventured onto the Interstate, each drive a testament to my determination. While the specter of anxiety still lingers, it's no longer a tyrant holding me captive. My journey through this year has seen me navigate the highways, from Helena to Missoula to Bozeman, with a spirit that's been nurtured by the courage to confront my inner demons.

And then came the pinnacle of adulthood - buying my first home. It wasn't just about acquiring property; it was an odyssey through self-discovery and financial revival. The road was littered with the remnants of past struggles, debts, and credit woes that once bound me. With unwavering tenacity, I dismantled these barriers brick by brick. I negotiated with collection agencies, nursed my credit back to health through careful credit card management, and scaled the ladder of financial responsibility. Each milestone I achieved wasn't just about improving my credit score; it was a testament to the strength of my commitment and determination.

The process of buying a home was an orchestra of exhilaration and anxiety. The symphony of questions swirled in my mind: Could I keep up with the monthly payments? What if unforeseen hurdles emerged? The symphony, however, played on, and I danced to its rhythm. I have a panic disorder, yes, but it did not stop me from embracing the excitement and apprehension of this new chapter. With each hurdle I overcame, I forged a deeper connection with myself, an unbreakable thread of resilience.

In the midst of these changes, I sought solace in the realm of mental health care. The journey to find a new psychiatric provider was marked by the echoes of past disappointments. I had hoped that my achievements and professional prowess would shield me from the stigma I had once faced. Alas, my first encounter left me feeling dismissed and voiceless, but it did yield a validating diagnosis. Yet, from the ashes of this experience, I emerged with newfound hope. I reached out to someone who saw me, who acknowledged the battles I had fought and the victories I had earned. With her support, I navigated the labyrinth of medication adjustments, a path fraught with uncertainties. Her unwavering understanding reminded me that seeking help is a mark of courage, not weakness.

Amidst the crescendo of challenges, a sweet refrain rang out - my wedding day. A celebration of love, a testament to resilience, it was a crescendo of emotions that left my heart both exultant and vulnerable. As I walked down the aisle, a journey of redemption unfolded before me. My dad, once distant due to the wounds of addiction, stood beside me, symbolizing a bridge rebuilt through perseverance. My daughter, a beacon of hope, bore witness to my transformation. The circle of family, once fractured, had mended, an embodiment of the miracles recovery can manifest.

The past year has been a symphony of emotions, a rollercoaster ride through uncharted territories of joy, pride, fear, and growth. It demanded every ounce of courage, every iota of strength, and every whisper of self-belief. I've tasted the sweetness of achievement, felt the weight of responsibility, and embraced the symphony of life with open arms. Through it all, my recovery has been my guiding star, the compass that steered me through uncharted waters. As I stand here, gazing at the path I've walked, I'm filled with a profound gratitude for the tumultuous, transformative journey that has brought me to this moment. The highs and lows have etched a tapestry of resilience, and I am ready to keep weaving, one thread of recovery at a time.