The Day the Women Showed Up (And Everything Changed)

By Suzzanne Suleiman | MS, LLP

There’s a day I’ll never forget.

Not because something beautiful happened.

But because something honest did.

The truth is—my ten-year relationship was falling apart. Not slowly. Not quietly.

It was unraveling because of lies and betrayal, and I was trying to hold the pieces together with bare hands.

I was scared.

I was exhausted.

And I didn’t know how to say it out loud.

But I finally did.

Just to a couple women I trusted. I told them what was really happening—that my home no longer felt like home. That my body couldn’t carry the weight of pretending anymore. That I didn’t feel safe, not emotionally or physically.

One of them asked gently, “Do you want me to share this with the group?”

“Can I let them know you need help?”

And I paused.

Because part of me still wanted to say no.

To stay small.

To figure it out alone, like I always had.

But something in me—maybe the part that was still hopeful—whispered yes.

The Day the Women Showed Up

She sent the message. A quiet SOS.

Not dramatic. Just true.

And then—the women came.

Not all of them. But the ones who could, did.

And they didn’t show up with flowers.

They showed up with drills. With ladders. With tools.

They changed my locks.

They installed doorbell cameras.

They helped me take down pictures that carried too much pain.

They helped me repaint the walls of a home I was trying to reclaim—not just for me, but for my daughter.

They brought cleaning supplies. They carried heavy things.

They stood with me when I wasn’t sure I could stand on my own.

They weren’t just there to witness my pain.

They got in it with me.

Not to fix it—but to say, “You don’t have to do this alone.”

They helped me pick myself up when I felt the most broken I’ve ever felt.

And they helped my daughter feel safe again, too.

That day changed something in me.

Because it wasn’t about a rescue—it was about remembrance.

A deep remembering that I am worthy of support.

Worthy of care.

Worthy of being seen—especially in the moments I feel unlovable.

It was the first time I truly understood what PS Society means.

Not just community.

Not just connection.

But sisterhood with hands.

With drills. With casseroles. With courage. With paint rollers and presence and no expectation that I’d be okay before they arrived.

They didn’t ask me to be strong.

They just let me be.

And that’s why I’ll spend the rest of my life building this space for other women.

Because I know what it’s like to fall apart.

And I know what it’s like to be held as you do.

If you’re reading this and wondering if you’re too much, too broken, or too late—

You’re not.

You’re just human.

And you deserve this kind of love, too.

PS. You are not alone.