Full Support

by Woods, Natalee

  “Wow,” she said, excitedly assessing the lingerie. “Monique is so good to me.”

  “She is good,” I replied, studying her long flowing hair and heavy diamonds.

  “Thanks, baby,” she said, smiling wide. “Appreciate it.”

  Moving on to my tired mother of twins, while quietly embracing the eclectic blend of Sunday stories, I unlocked the door and let myself back in. The helpless crying had waned; however, it had yet to cease completely.

  “An F for fabulous,” I said, holding up a pink striped nursing bra.

  “Thank you,” she replied, staring at the cups, her eyes nearly bloodshot from exhaustion. “This is so hard.”

  I paused to listen, feeling her frustration.

  “Really, really hard.”

  “You’re doing better than I ever would,” I said, unhooking the bra.

  “I’m really not. I just—” she paused to catch her breath. “I just don’t know what I’m doing, or if I’m even doing anything right.”

  I could feel the concern in her voice, working to understand her role as a mother—daunted, and moments away from breaking wide open. I loved her vulnerability, and absolute devotion. She didn’t see it that way, of course, which made the humanity of our moment even more real. She bared every loose piece of herself as her fortitude faded, bit by bit. I grabbed hold of her hands and helped her up from the chair before I rushed to wrap her in a bra while she held more Kleenex to her boobs. I hoped, with all my might, that it did everything it was supposed to do, and then some.

  “Oh my god.” She stood staring at her breasts in the mirror. The look on her face was both triumphant, given that the cups fit, yet completely hollow, putting the focus on how drastically different our lives were, shaded with similar undercurrents of total desperation.

  “Look at me,” she whispered, studying the long, deep stretch marks along her stomach and hips. “I wish I could say I didn’t care.”

  Her comment hit hard as I continued to stare at her in the mirror.

  “What a mess.” Her voice became muted and her eyes weepy.

  “A beautiful mess,” I replied, looking around the room at the contents of her diaper bag. “And the bra fits you perfectly.”

  She nodded, plopping back down in the chair after handing me the bra. The sincerity that followed made the room feel less tense. “Thank you,” she said again, looking up at me longingly as she held onto her bare, aching breasts. “Nobody ever said it was easy, right? Loving you. Loving all of you, no matter what.”

  Deep in thought, I sensed a private reckoning. Its influence made her “mess” even more beautiful as she delivered it with subtle confidence, a knowing that wasn’t made for that moment, but would soon come.

  Loving you. Loving all of you, no matter what.

  Life continued to explode around us as more tiny whimpers gained speed. Per her request, I slid out of the room and rushed for one more nursing bra, pleased she was able to leave with two. The gentleman shopping for his wife had also shared a victory as Shay continued to ring up his pile of surprises. I didn’t know his wife, but I presumed, from her husband’s commitment to loving, that they had something good. Good enough to land him in the lingerie department for almost two hours, also prompting Shay to need her own box of Kleenex.

  When I stepped back into the hallway of the dressing rooms, I immediately noticed Monique’s customer, Hazelle, walking back and forth in her leopard G-string thong and matching bra, rocking five-inch heels and a soundless baby in her arms. Her strides were steady and methodical. I was completely caught off guard from the shift in sound and motion, with the exception of a few small, persistent cries.

  The feeling was surreal as I stood cemented in the doorway. Watching. I was back in full swing, living and learning from so many unforgettable women, and from all the young, rising girls I had met along the way. The concept of strangers serving as catalysts became stronger, which prompted me to bury all the self-badgering and embrace the messy complexities of life, and all of its uncertainties. I was convinced some kind of weird, indefinable destiny was at play as we moved toward one another like magnets, sharing our bodies, and our hearts, within the private enclosures of a dressing room. The solidarity I experienced gave me a true sense of belonging from an unexpected place, and more profoundly, from women who didn’t look like me, or talk like me, or come from where I came from—women who had suffered far greater hardships.

  It was odd and inspiring how it all suddenly came spilling, loud and honorable. Time had a magical way of showing itself. We don’t always get what we want; we get what we need as we work to love ourselves. And if we open our ears and eyes wide enough to understand what’s directly in front of us, from the diverse to the divine, extraordinary things happen, humanity happens, one guiding message at a time. The cliché was exhausting, but the enormity of truth was so real. So remarkably real.

  I started to walk back into my mother’s room, summoned by a few more tireless cries, but a woman stopped me before I could disappear. Strikingly tall, she opened her door and asked if I would come in and check the fit of her bra. She quickly guided me into the chair and assured me it would only take a few seconds.

  “I’m a nursing home entertainer, and I just want to make sure my boobs aren’t flopping around in this bra,” she said, leaning over to stretch her legs before breaking out into full jumping jacks.

  “O…kay,” I replied in absolute bewilderment as her arms—and boobs—swayed in every direction. A lungful of energetic drills hit the dressing room, counting “one, two, three, four.” The sudden urge to escape led me straight into a wide-open grin instead, hoping that somewhere, somehow, my sweet Mabel got to see the magnificence of life fearlessly bouncing in front of me. And just when I thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, heartfelt dancing supervened as Tina Turner’s “River Deep, Mountain High” poured its unmatched glory from the speakers above.

  I rested my body against the chair, taking in another moment of timely gifts. Boobs continued to flap, arms flailed effortlessly, and feet tapped to the beat. Roving thoughts shifted into new, lasting perspectives. We were all just trying to make it, deep within the brevity of life, wild against the world. And as the babies’ crying finally ceased, spreading a soft stillness, I sat in awe, thinking about all the women who had lifted up so much more than just their breasts.

  acknowledgments

  Full disclosure: I have some people to thank.

  Writing a book is hard as hell, and more rewarding than I could have ever imagined. Thank you to everyone at Amberjack Publishing for your collective efforts from design to marketing. A special thanks to Dayna Anderson for taking a chance on me, my ever-patient and super savvy editor, Cassandra Farrin, and my incredible agent, Jill Marr, for the continued support. I’ve appreciated every bit of guidance. You are one awesome woman.

  I’m eternally grateful for my family of women who’ve supported me through so many dark, daunting days. Moriah Slater, you are what true friendship is all about. Thank you for being my person. Thank you for always showing up and teaching me about love. Devoted, gut-busting, call-your-shit-out kinda love. When you bury me in leather pants and comb my bangs, remember that you are the one person I was damn honored to meet. I love you. I love you. I love you.

  Thank you, Kelly Dunning, for your steadfast loyalty. I appreciate you so much. You never, ever, stopped asking me how the writing was going and I can’t express enough how much it has meant to me over the years. I cherish you, your beautiful family, and all our profound, soulful talks. Thank you, Paula Olson, for the best air guitar I’ve ever peed my pants to. We never miss a beat. My glass is forever raised in honor of your laughter, the joy you bring to others, a few Tater Tots, Steve, 4:00 a.m. Cancun, and Band-Aids.

  A big shout-out to Katie Mills for always being my cheerleader and trusted reader. It’s meant a lot and I’ve appreciated your time. Thank you to Lindsay Bussoli for constantly pushing me to feel and re
flect and embrace the scariness of vulnerability. Twenty-something years of love ain’t bad. Thank you, Katrina Stroh, for growing with me. How cool has it been to start little, lose some, love a lot, and come back to where it all started. You too, Mollie Murphy. I knew you were something special when I picked your ass up on my Big Wheel. I love your fire, your wit, and our long, loving check-ins. And last, a humongous hug to Jen Crofton. You amaze me with your brilliance and insight every other day I talk to you. Words cannot express the gratitude I have for your unwavering support, all of your time reading and editing our work, your life advice coupled with your candor, and most of all, the sincere efforts you put forth to lift others.

  I want to thank my brother, Spencer, for anchoring our family throughout the toughest of times. You gave us laughter and consistency. I’m forever appreciative of your thoughtfulness and generosity—and I thank you, deeply. You are an incredible father and I am so, so proud of you and all that you’ve accomplished. Thank you to your wife and my dear friend Andrea for being present every step of the way. Your devotion to love big is most admirable. A sincere thank you to you for always supporting my process, asking questions, making me laugh, finding the good, and being one hell of a mother to your brilliant littles, Silas, Lucia, and Nico. To all three of you: Dream, and then dream again. I love you. And to David and your family, I wish you happiness.

  I’d also like to thank the Merryfields for keeping the spirit of my parents alive while continuing to nurture and cherish our relationship. I have treasured our time and I am so grateful to have you in my life. Thank you for the great conversations and thoughtful check-ins. I’m glad Lar and Jan chose you. Another extremely large thank you goes out to my DeMatteis clan. Mama Mary and our beloved Papa Jack: you picked me up when I needed it most. You welcomed me into your home at my lowest and darkest with a suitcase and a dog in tow. You fed me, loved me, celebrated holidays with me, educated me on Westerns and reality TV, taught me about leadership, and most importantly, you gave me the time I needed to find my footing. You supported me every single day as if I was one of your own while I wandered lost and heartbroken. I am everlastingly grateful. You embody the very essence of kindness. You changed my life. And I love you.

  To Suzanne DeMatteis, thank you for your compassion and commitment to our friendship. All of your encouragement and support through the years has been most valuable. You’ve opened your home and your beautiful heart. Keep guiding others with your wisdom and I will continue to follow.

  For my fellow educators, partner teachers, and life-long friends, I’ll forever cover my heart and take a bow in your honor Colin Slingsby, Erin Belka, and Rachel Evans. The purpose and passion you put into your teaching is extraordinary. I have learned so much from each one of you. Thank you for your brainpower. And thank you for making me laugh at the most inappropriate times. They’re the best ones.

  Leslie Ostroff: Listen up, Sissy. You are my one-of-a-kind with a fine behind who gets people in line because you are killin’ it with every bit of love you give, teaching others how to live, with your charm and your wit, you are lit. Thanks for knowing we’re soul mates. Prince would be really, really proud. Anastasia Tschida, your vision is most profound and I so appreciate our bond. A big thank you to Emily Kugisaki for being one of my ARC readers. I admire your brain and I am extremely thankful for your time and reflection. My very special Petrie 1 and Petrie 2 (order up for negotiation), thank you. Your generosity and ongoing support has meant a lot. Thanks for being so authentic and setting me up to complete this wild dream. You helped shape this journey and I’m grateful. Thanks for making our world a better place too.

  Tim and Lilifer Hogg, you two have been a constant and I’m filled with appreciation. Ruben and Keri Reyes, thank you for sharing all of your love with my family. Kim Leveille, my counsel and confidante, thanks for always pushing me to surrender to the hard stuff. Mike and Diane Loop, I’m most thankful for all the wonderful memories. Thanks for backing me on this long road. To my Port Townsend women’s writing group, specifically authors Linda Myers and Lee Undsderfer, you two set my soul on fire! As did my CalArts cohort and professors, thank you. What a ride.

  Finally, none of this would have been possible without Mr. Legan, my 9th-grade English teacher. You started this mess. You also showed me what can happen when we stop to listen to others, especially our youth. You watched me receive my high school diploma and then, years later, you drove across states to watch me receive my college degree. People don’t forget those things. Wherever you are now, thank you. I did it.

  And to my father Larry and my mother Janet, I’m sorry we lost. I never go a day without feeling your absence. You two knew how to love, quietly and loudly, while allowing me to be me. I really hope you found Bob Marley.

  about the author

  Natalee Woods holds a BA in English from Washington State University and an MFA in Writing from the California Institute of the Arts. Her work has been featured in The Huffington Post, Chatelaine, Reader’s Digest, and Salon. Natalee spent over a decade working in multiple lingerie departments, fitting women for bras in both Seattle and Los Angeles. The experiences and lessons she learned along the way ultimately led her to write Full Support.

  Natalee currently teaches English Literature and Creative Writing within the public school system. Her teaching has magnified her passion around advocating for socially marginalized youth. Criminal Justice Reform is also a cause very close to her heart. Natalee currently lives in Seattle and has a penchant for leather jackets. She spends her free time enjoying Indie films, local music, and planning her next trip. You can find a complete collection of her work at nataleewoods.com.