Hold On, But Don't Hold Still - Kristina Kuzmic Page 0,1

precious little hands.”

And with her hands still planted firmly on my cheeks, she said with her cute lisp, “I have boogers in my hands.” (Before kids, that would have been gross. After kids? Just a normal Tuesday.)

Once the kids were finally down for their nap, I picked up one of the many books I had been reading. I wasn’t a big reader growing up, much to the dismay of my scholarly parents. My father once risked his life in a plane crash because he refused to slide down the emergency exit without first grabbing his books. He was the last passenger to exit the plane, clinging to his bag of books. But I didn’t inherit my father’s addiction to reading. I had always been too antsy to sit still with a book. Or to sit still at all. Until one day, I wasn’t.

I’m not sure if my eyes needed a break from crying or my mind craved distraction from the utter failure that had become my life, but I was suddenly captivated by reading. Hope was the common thread that kept me turning the pages of the books I found—books about other women whose lives looked nothing like mine but who were chasing down and finding the same solace I was after: hope.

I spent many nights on the floor next to my kids’ beds, counting my waitressing tips to make sure I had enough to cover bills that month, feeling like a worthless mom, escaping into my books when the days became too much, so cried out and screamed out that I was becoming numb to it all. The bad, the really bad, the occasional good, the status quo. It all felt the same. It all felt like nothing.

And then one day I found the guts to stop floating through my life like a helpless character.

With enough time and creativity, a couple of years later, I was able to stockpile my resources—financial and emotional—and afford two bedrooms for my little family. Two bedrooms meant more than just extra space. It meant that I wasn’t stuck anymore. I went from sleeping on the floor next to my kids’ beds to having a mattress, then to having a bed, and finally to having my very own bedroom. I was moving forward. I allowed myself to fall in love again. I built a career that gave me purpose. I watched my children thrive.

Ten years after my life had ground to a halt, I found myself sitting in a fancy-schmancy building across the table from fancy-schmancy people. It was the type of meeting I actually shaved my armpits for (like, both of them) and for once wore a blouse not yet baptized by fluids harboring my children’s DNA. The fancy people praised me for the videos and posts I’d been sharing online for a few years and they admired my large social media following. They thought I was successful enough that they wanted to offer me something more. “So, Kristina, what do you ultimately want? A television show? A speaking tour? What do you want to do with your life?”

Without any thought, I blurted out: “I want to be for others what I needed when I was at my lowest.” As I spoke, I could feel my voice catching in my throat.

I’d never said those words aloud before, or even thought of them specifically. Yet there was my mission, as clear as day. The answer to why I had fought through everything. The answer to what made me get off that floor and live again. The reason why I felt such a strong pull to share my story, my humor, my hope.

Every human I’ve ever met is broken. Every parent I’ve ever met struggles. We all feel regrets; we’re wounded by our failures, hobbled by our insecurities. When you’re in the midst of the worst of it, the darkness feels permanent. But it’s not. It is possible to find meaning and value and connection and humor in your life right now—in your relationships with your kids, your friends, your spouse, and yourself. It is possible to stop feeling defeated and stuck. Hold on for dear life and do not give up. But don’t hold still and be passive; don’t go numb to the good happening all around you, even when life is at its