The Days Are Long But The Years Are Short
As a mother, that old adage which I've heard more than one person take claim to coming up with, "The days are long but the years are short," makes more sense than ever. Just getting from breakfast to dinner can seem like an eon when your little kids have you in nap prison and the schedule of caring for kids is relentless.
But that moment when the Shutterfly email pops in my inbox and time feels like it's going at warp speed because they've aggregated pics from three years ago. That was right now. This very moment.
It's spring break 2018 and our Varsity, Lola and Ollie, are playing with cousins and friends. While I've been home trying to not let Charlotte and Emma watch shows, so I can "get stuff done" in between constant requests to open Play Dough containers, put on Barbie dresses, get the ant in the living room, encourage them to eat something (clearly a projection of ME needing to take a few minutes to eat something), etc.
The endless mother battle of they need me and I need me. But who gets me? Yes, physically who gets my energy.?And mentally, who understands "my" needs?
I'm not sure there is an answer right now, but allowing myself to write about my journey as a human is the path. I'm 100% certain of it.
Since January 2018, I have been taking non-fiction writing courses with Valley Haggard. Her "Life in 10 Minutes" classes have been changing me. Literally cracking me open to myself. I started this website in February of 2017, but every key stroke was hard. Especially the "save & publish" click. I've had a locked homepage keeping people out (mostly just my fearful subconscious trying to play games with me), but today I took that off and started writing. Back filling some posts and editing.
They say the most important thing you should do is what you fear most... I can list hundreds of reasons why I shouldn't write - so here's part of that list I'm now saying F-You to as I allow myself to write whatever I feel like:
You do other stuff, you aren't a writer
You're husband is the writer
You don't have anything to say that someone isn't already saying
You don't really want people to know the true you - how awful
There are enough mom blogs and female writers putting their thoughts out, you'll just be a non-important part of the masses filling the inter webs with blather
You have to make it a "hard working" website that monetizes things, since you know how to from running the snagajob.com affiliate program
You shouldn't indulge in yourself so much by looking back at the past - focus on the future
You don't have time to write with all your kid and work commitments
Go outside and garden (aka: pull weeds and think about things - multitasking is better than focused writing)
People won't read it anyway
Your children might read it
You should be ashamed of your choices, hide them, don't analyze them through writing
You threw away all those journals in San Francisco almost two decades ago - what do you think, you can just start writing again
You don't even like classic literature. Are you planning on writing one of those cheesy YA post-apocalyptic books you enjoy reading? Or even worse, you think you have a memoire booming? - You're a joke and no one would ever care about your life, so why even share!
You aren't a real writer...
SO now I'm needed by Emma and Charlotte, by the dirty dishes in my sink, by the clean clothes in my laundry basket that need folding, by Ollie who wants to tell me about some cool thing he did with his cousins earlier today, by the "next steps" document I need to write for Studio Two Three, by client work I need to focus on... BY EVERYONE.
But mostly BY ME. I need me to write to feel whole. And continue allowing me to be me. So here I am, back again and giving my "go team" effort to stick with it. Just like the 5+ times a week I have been committed to exercising since Spring 2015... It's time I commit to the mental exercise of processing my thoughts and applying them to paper or website or all the above.
Cheers to letting the days be long and the years be short filled with lotsa love,
Leah
