That's How We're Going to Make It: Together
By Katie Blackburn | March 2025 Newsletter
“I’m not going anywhere, you know,” my friend Kelly told me one evening, sitting on the other end of the couch from where I had my legs curled up to my chest, my entire body wrapped around a small pillow for comfort. Her words opened the floodgates of emotion I had been holding in for weeks—maybe even months—since the first signs that my son was not like other two-year-olds had become more and more clear.
I didn’t even know how to respond. When grief and gratitude come forward at the same time, and out of the same heart, it’s hard for words to be sufficient in the moment. So I just cried. I cried because my sweet little boy had just had another episode of fecal smearing all over his bedroom (which is, for the uninitiated, exactly what it sounds like). I cried because I was so tired of chasing him around the edges of a park to keep him from running off, while the other children played in the park and their mothers got to sit and talk to one another seemingly without a care in the world. I cried because my son was (and is) amazing, and I felt terrible that I could even be sad over who he is. I cried because I could feel all the experiences I had dreamed of slipping through my fingers. And I cried because I had a friend good enough to tell me she was going to stay.
This moment on the couch was eight years ago. I recently asked Kelly, who is still very much here, how she knew to say those exact words, I’m not going anywhere. She responded, “I don’t know, I think I googled ‘how to support friends with a child who has autism’ or something, and one of the websites said to reassure your friend you won’t ever be scared away.”
She googled it. We both got a good laugh out of that. Good friends will google for you.
But this is the point: from day one, the very beginning of my son’s life—with all of its unique circumstances and the wild highs and lows of being a disability mom—I’ve had a friend who was going to make sure I never felt alone for too long in all of it. She was going to make sure we still were invited to things, she was going to talk to her own boys about Cannon’s differences so they knew how to handle him, she was going to look at me with eyes that said, “It’s okay, Katie, it’s okay,” when he had a meltdown I could not stop or control in her presence. She wasn’t going anywhere.
This promise, friends, might be the greatest gift we can give somebody.
Most of us are, in some measure, limping through life right now. Nobody has it perfect. Whether it is marriage or a child or a job or financial insecurity or health problems or heavy anxiety about [hands gesture wildly in the air] the state of things, we’re all fighting for hope. But there is some sort of miracle that happens when you limp together, you almost feel like you’re running.
Lock arms, friends. Stick with your people. Work out the differences. When in doubt, don’t be afraid to google how to show up for one another. That’s how we’re going to make it: together.
Love you,
And BTW: Friends, I wrote a book! It’s a little story about Cannon’s disability baseball team, and it might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written, because it’s about the strongest, most resilient kiddos you’ll ever meet. I’m so proud of this project, and I’m honored to share it with you today.
But here’s the thing: I really need you to pre-order this book (which you’ll get on your doorstep THIS TUESDAY, MARCH 4!) and then I need you to read it with your kiddos and talk about what gifts they have that they can use to serve others, and then I need you to tell your people to do the same. Sound good?
When Cannon was three and struggling profoundly to speak at all, a dear friend told me, “You know Katie, God is doing something here, because I know Cannon is having trouble finding words, but God gave you the ones we all need to hear. So please, keep writing for us.” And so, I have. This is part of my work in the world, and I know that. But if we are going to move the needle in fostering a world that truly welcomes people with disabilities, it’s going to take all of us.
[Now picture me bear-hugging you 💛]
Upcoming Workshops
You've finished a story, but it still needs … something. Join Callie for this 90-Minute Revision Bootcamp on March 7.
Join Ashlee and Jenny for a three-week photography workshop for those looking to embrace curiosity and wonder behind the lens. Curiosity as a Creative Practice starts April 23.
Preparing an essay for submission? Work with Molly on edits.
C+C Faves
Stay tuned! Our spring collection drops on March 11th!
“There are a zillion ways your story could have ended, but it ended with our family. Together.” // The Same Strange Coin by
Books on our (collective) nightstands: Good (Enough) Mother, The Five-Star Weekend, The Seventh Veil of Salome, Good Energy, I’ll Show Myself Out, Famous Last Words, The Hotel Balzaar, Ghosted: An American Story, Bridge to Terabithia, and our Exhale book club pick, Van Gogh Has a Broken Heart.
“‘And then you have the golden details,’ I tell my students. The details that smack you in the face and leave a mark. The sort that make you see the world—or someone in it—more clearly.” // Details, Details by
We’re taking notes—with this ultra fine point pen and these notebooks (that fold completely flat!).
For families welcoming a new sibling, this board book makes for a sweet introduction.
“Not unlike those giant Redwoods, my days are full of miracles that keep reminding me — it’ll be okay, keep going, you are here.” // What’s Saving My Life by
A little luxury: earbuds to help you sleep better.
Finally, a lemon tart for home cooks (whole eggs! whole sticks of butter! no pie weights!).
“There was no epiphany on New Year’s Day. No lightbulb moment as the clock struck midnight. Instead, a few weeks into January, the phrase gently blew into my mind like a soft breeze: ‘more generous than necessary.’” // Defining Word(s) by
From hot flashes to kids’ soccer games, this neck fan has you covered (and cooled!).
This website personalizes ebook deals.
“She suggests that maybe, just maybe, my presence and story—despite my discomfort—are giving another woman a speck of hope she can hold tightly in her fist and clench safely to her chest.” // Notes of Hope: Vol. 2 by
In our earbuds: this conversation on technology and art and this episode on reframing + planning career pauses.
Looking to get lost in a podcast series? It's not too late to get caught up on Making a Mother.
“Who else is talking about love that smolders like this, banked up, needing only the slightest breath of oxygen to ‘strike like a matchbook’?” // That Old Flame by
If Mary Poppins had a gym bag, this would be it.
We love this one-line-a-day journal just for moms.
“How much should I tell her? How much would you want to know?” // In Conversation with my 23-year-old Self by
Simple pleasures: puppy yoga and sugar scrubs.
Try Sarah’s Caprese Baked Egg Cups when you need breakfast on-the-go.
Know someone who would love Coffee + Crumbs? Feel free to share our work with a friend (you can even earn free months in the process)! ❤️
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"when you limp together, you almost feel like you’re running." Love that, Katie! <3