Me.

As I sit in my bed alone...drinking a Natural Light Naturdays (don't judge...I drank all my wine and had to move to the next best thing we had) I keep thinking about what I want to share with you all. How much do I share? How many skeletons do I want to unpack from my closets...yes plural...closets! What do you even want to know? What really does make my life imperfectly joyful?


I started this blog for one reason, and that reason is ME. I don't ever really end sentences with that word...ME. I don't remember the last time I did something for me. See as you become a mother you identity shifts to that of mom, momma, mommy, mum, or hey you. Oh don't forget being a wife. Making sure that you give your attention to person who for some damn reason still finds you attractive after 2 C-sections and ummm about 546 stretch marks. He crazy! Oh wait, then you have to go to your full time job in healthcare during a pandemic and put a smile on your face and pretend that your anxiety isn't about to regurgitate on your bosses boss fancy tweed skirt. You try and motivate your team with Motivational Mondays and making them laugh with stories of your hooligan little humans, when deep down you are screaming for a time-out of your own.


Then you come home after keeping down your anxiety to your kids...yep they keep showing up and coming back with vengeance. Then you spend 45 minutes trying to get your toddler to finish chewing one damn chicken nugget, so they can then have your secret grape pile from Grandma. You have to bribe them some how. At this point in the day all you want to do is feel nothing...nothing but being numb. But those children can't start their own baths...and still haven't figured out how to wash their own balls and feet (which somehow are both very dirty...agh). Balls and feet are now clean...but now lets start a fight with what pjs to wear and whether or not to watch Cocomelon or PJ masks before bed. Somehow we settle on Tinkerbell...then silence. I get both kids cuddling in my lap; one rubbing my arm and the other playing with my hair. What the fuck?!?! I wanted to feel numb, but these two tiny beings made me feel...feel loved and that I actually might be doing a somewhat okay job as a mother. Boom...then the guilt sets in. How could I have been wishing for bedtime to be sooner? Why did I drive the long way home? Why did I pretend I had a work call in the car when I pulled in; even though I was just listening to Mumford in the car? How could I wish for time to move forward when those little angels are growing up before my eyes as they sit in awe at a flying fairy...that is wearing too short of a skirt mind you...come on Tinkerbell.





Me...that's why. That's why I wish for time to move faster. I want me...I want me to show herself...546 stretch marks and all. I don't have a hobby, I don't exercise (yes I know I should...these Naturdays calories are killer), and well frankly I don't know where to find me. Where do you look for a lost soul? Where do you look for your true self when it has been clouded by so many other priorities in your life? I wonder if there is an app for that?! Lost Soul Searcher...helping mothers, wives, nurses, leaders, and women find themselves.

Nope...not an app...just a hidden object challenge game...its free though...might have to download it later. (addendum, downloaded it, waste of time, 1 star do not recommend)


Ok I digress, see even in a blog about my life I get sidetracked off of me. HA. I started writing this blog to help me work through some feelings, concerns, and straight up baggage I have been carrying for years. I'm not claiming to be an expert in anything. I am just a women trying to find herself through the cloudy, messy, anxiety ruled world I live in. I am writing for ME. It has helped me get things off my chest, helped me cope with issues, and helped me find the time for myself. Trust me I haven't mastered this process yet, but I will continue to work on it daily.

Me...have I found her yet? I found bits and pieces of her here and there, then I lose her again. Do I really want to find her...me? What if I don't like me?

These are the questions that tend to keep me up at night. I find myself scared most nights that I will find...me...fully me, but she isn't the woman I dreamed of. But maybe this journey isn't so much about becoming anything...about finding me. Maybe it's about un-becoming everything that isn't really me, so I can become who I was meant to be in the first place. All I know is I am working damn hard at excepting me for me in all its imperfect joyfulness. I hope you will join me for the journey.





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