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Can I trust you?  I think I can.  You look like a nice, friendly sort of reader.  Come closer, so we’re not overheard.  There you go.

I have a secret. It’s not a big secret. Nobody’s going to jail over this one. Even so, I keep it close to my chest.

I didn’t watch the Paris Olympics.

Phew, I feel so much better! You’re not judging me, are you? No, I can see it in your eyes. I knew this was a safe space.

Oh, and I’m childless not by choice. Just thought I’d mention that, too.

So, the Olympics. The defining moment of 2024, a celebration of nations coming together, the best athletes in the world dazzling us with impossible things…

I mean, I caught the highlights on YouTube. Does that count?

Where I used to look at videos of cute babies trying to roll over…

Anyway, did you notice? I bet you did. I think you see things that other people miss.

The Mothers.

So many mothers! Competing, and winning!

“Finally,” said my friends, “someone gave that mother a medal!”

Yes, I thought, true that. But I’d rather have a treasure box of Mother’s Day cards.

“About time,” said my family, “we’re FINALLY celebrating mothers!”

They quietly got rid of my childhood toys, and assumed they knew why there are no grandchildren.

I’m happy for them, the Mothers. Truly! I want to honour them with gold post-boxes, fireworks and free childcare for life. They are extraordinary.

But sometimes I wonder: who honours the also-rans? The women who didn’t quite make it onto society’s podium?

Did I say that out loud?

We all like medals. I think it goes back to school. Who didn’t want to get a sticker from the teacher? Who doesn’t want to be recognised for a job well done?

But I prefer the torch. The Olympic flame carried across continents by ten thousand hands. That each person finds too heavy alone; that everyone carries for each other. The beacon that can only be carried by people. 

I want to hold that torch. I want to carry the light, and the burden, for everyone. I want nobody’s flame to be dimmed just because they didn’t make it onto that podium. I want us all to shine.

And, just sometimes, I want someone to hold it for me, too. To notice when it all becomes too much. To see what I carry. To know when I need the kind of help only ten thousand hands can give.

I think you see. I think you know.

So, dear friend, will you take it?

Will you help carry this flame?