April 24th 2017

April 24th 2017
750 words is a good practice I have done in the past to work on my writing chops and overcome writers block. I am trying to set myself free while somehow staying chained to my 9-5 job and living a pretty tied down life. I am a mother and a wife. I the sole bread-winner. I am a full-time college student. I am trying to build several arms of a home based business. I am trying to learn to become a home maker. And I am struggling with getting our family to the next level of home ownership and some semblance of wealth, not be cause I seek to be rich, but because I want my time back and my life back and myself back. Like so many of us, as I took on these burdens and learned how to be a wife and a mother and a family manager, I forgot how to be myself. I forgot the simple joys in crafting and writing and singing Ani Difranco and Fiona Apple. If I listen to them now I can close my eyes and picture the mountainous drives and the desert landscapes that have lived that soundtrack. I can close my eyes and smell the beach breeze. I feel the freedom of my youth and I ache for it. It is not the responsibility or the structure, I just miss the time I used to have for me. Time I never knew that I needed. Time I barely acknowledged before. I miss it now. I am settling into motherhood, my husband and I have roles and responsibilities that we are comfortable with. My life is happy and peaceful after years of struggle and some turmoil finding my footing. So now that things are stable, I plan on disrupting it by buying a house and  trying to conceive another child. MORE CHILDREN. I am half convinced it will be twins again. I am half convinced I am already pregnant, 3 DPO but with super accurate timing and lots and lots of fun loving sex. I am also trying to get a grip on my health, eating Keto and trying be a new person. A fit person. A healthy person that says “Let’s go to the park” instead of “quiet, I can’t hear my shows!”. I have a pedometer and am allowing it to inspire me. I am beating personal goals and personal bests and I have a measurable standard to hold myself too. I am not sure how to combat a lifetime of feeling worthless. A life time of throwing myself away. I do not feel like I deserve this, not this life, not this husband, not these incredible kids. I feel like an imposter because no one ever told me that I was everything. That I was beautiful. That is was more than beauty. That I fit in. That I fit at all. Parenting brought up all the issues I didn’t know i had as I work, hard, to be a better parent to my kids. I want to show them that they have the whole world inside of them already. That they are everything. They are beautiful and smart and healthy and they are filled with love. They are made of love. So I work. I work on me. I need to be more than the result of my upbringing. I am stronger than the circumstances that created me. I have had to relearn and undo all the damage caused by people who really were doing the best they could. My mother thought her tragedy was romantic, luckily I never did. My father hates his mother. My mother does not but probably should. I hate none of them. I am beyond the why-me that we enter adulthood with. I have turned in my childhood cards and entered adulthood manually removing bad thoughts and replacing them with good ones. My kids are the reason I found my worth. I may have been a worthless daughter, but I will not be a worthless mother. I will not punish my kids for the faults of their great grandparents and I will not subject them to the abuse of my parents, because I am their protector. I will not allow my father to fill their heads with nonsense that makes them feel less-than. I will not allow my mother to make judgements about their bodies and alter the perceptions of themselves that will be built full of strength and whimsy and beautify. My kids will tear down the box that my childhood left me in an never package themselves up waiting to finally feel normal or complete, or pretty, or like everyone else. They may never be. And that will be celebrated. Maybe through them, I can learn to celebrate myself.


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