I understand why in young motherhood I had so many opportunities to practice carrying a heavy load.

Most days, my arms overflowed with the diaper bag and sippy cups and baggies of snacks and those stinky blankies and the handful of random toys they insisted on having wherever we went.

After grocery trips I preferred to hoist 62 plastic bags onto my arms and channel my inner Hulk bringing everything in at once rather than ever make an extra trip from the car!!

Not to mention the mental load of emails and doctors’ appointments and teachers’ names and who had a soccer game at six and the $10 gift for that little classmate’s birthday party on Saturday.

It was ALL preparation for the load I’m asked to carry today.

Because sometimes my teenager comes to the car after school or after practice and nearly growls. He shoves his bag to the floor and slumps in his seat, and in so doing, he hands me this heavy load.

Sometimes when we get home, after a snack and little bit of space…he tells me about it.

He lets all the pain and sadness and disappointment of regular, hard life spill out of his mouth and into my lap.

But sometimes he remains sullen and silent.

On these days, my heart breaks a little. And I’m never quite sure what to do. Or what to say.

So, I just…stay.

I stay there beside him.

Silently shouldering his load.

Understanding I am the person he trusts most in the world.

And he’s tired.

And he just needs me to carry it for a while.

I’m grateful I had all those years to practice.