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A widow, a cancer-survivor and a mother of three with only two she can hold, sing to and rock to sleep – these are the women that MOPS introduced me to at my first meeting. My table was lively, bold and wounded. I quickly adjusted my filter seeing things through a new perspective. I held my tongue on the frivolous complaints of life I had been ready to share, and I listened. I listened hard. I listened, because I could not fathom how these beautiful, smiling mothers were pulling off their jobs. I listened, because I was eager to know