I’m trying new things, guys. And it’s not exactly going great. I don’t have that abundance of determination and motivation shooting from my eyeballs the minute to drop the kids off from school. A more accurate picture is me standing in the middle of my weekend-ravaged living room, glancing at my computer, over to the dishes at the kitchen sink, and then spacing off for a few minutes wondering what the hell I’m even doing.
I’m technically a stay-at-home mom, but I’m never home, and between me and you, I don’t get warm fuzzies from cooking and cleaning. So every morning I come home and do a little maintenance, for credit, then I do my new thing. I write. It used to be private and something I would forever never never share with another human ever, yet here I am, writing and submitting articles, working on a book proposal, enormously out of my comfort zone, and way out of the guidelines of my mom/wife role. But I love it.
Where is everything going to fit?
If I could do it all day I would. But I have women I’m helping on their journey to stay sober during school hours, and I’m active in my own recovery. I also am in charge of the “errands” category of family life, and with six of us, it’s a long list. Once 3:00pm hits, my day belongs to the kids again, with soccer, volleyball, and karate practices and basketball games. So life is full.
“I’m a little overwhelmed, still failing, and it feels great.”
Things are slipping through the cracks, laundry is stacking up, rejection emails are coming in, and I’m writing some horrible shit that ends up in the trash. Dinnertime will come around and I won’t have a thing to cook, but we figure it out. I’m a little overwhelmed, slightly failing, and it feels great. I’m learning that I can do hard things, imperfectly, and it’s still an incredibly joyful experience. My family doesn’t care if the floor is swept. They are all proud of me, and my kids see a mother who is going after her dreams with no expectations. One day at a time, we are doing it. I’m doing it. Thank God for this wild life, for coffee, and for power napping.
The old me would never have the guts to put myself out there. That’s a no-brainer. But this thing I’m doing is way bigger than anything I’ll ever write. I was always dead last on my list of who’s important. And if I wanted something, I never asked, never tried something out of my comfort zone out of fear I’d look more like a failure than I already did, already felt. Enough of that. There is a beautiful shade of grey (no, not that kind!) where I can be a good mom and wife and still put myself on the list of things to do. I don’t have to feel guilty about it either, because as the old saying goes, if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. No, I can’t do it all, and guess what? The people who love me don’t give a shit. What a delightful relief.
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful that the risk it took to blossom.” -Anais Nin