Hello Thirteen


My oldest daughter turns 13 tomorrow. 

How that happened I cannot say, one day she was a toddler and then I was dropping her off at middle school last August. In the blink of an eye is an understatement.

I've been thinking about this day thirteen years ago when I was forty pounds heavier with swollen ankles and an endless supply of rocky road ice cream. Thirteen years ago it was a Monday night, and I was ten days past my due date. It was torturous as I had already had one induction cancelled, and my sweet doctor looked at me with sympathetic eyes that Monday morning and said, "Everything looks great. Baby is just comfortable and not ready to leave the nest". Sure it was good news to know we weren't in distress, but also could I please have my baby because she was supposed to be born almost ten days ago? I went home from that appointment with strict orders from my doctor to wake up at six the next morning, head to the ER and tell them my "water broke", because they would have to check, and then when they called my doctor, he said he would come over and break my water. Typing it makes it sound like something out of a slapstick comedy, but the local hospital had been hit with a baby boom and I wasn't emergent. 

John and I went home. I made my nest on the couch, complaining of lower abdominal pain, that the doctor had earlier assured me was "pressure from the baby". I lounged on the couch eating ice cream and watching tv and the clock. Six a.m. couldn't get here fast enough. 

Then it was six the next morning and I was silently crying because holy shit I was about to become a mother. At some point on this day, this baby was going to be outside of my body, and I would be in charge of another life. I felt like there should have been a test for that. 

Long story short, that pressure in my abdominal area, those were labor pains and even though my water had yet to break, my contractions were eight minutes apart. I honestly had no idea. Approximately ten hours later, Caitlin made her debut. 

I'd like to say it was mushy and Instagram worthy, but to be honest it was an out of body experience. I felt like I was watching someone else be simultaneously over joyed and scared out of their damn mind. I was a mother, but also I wanted my mother, because who was going to raise this baby? Oh yeah, me.

If you have been a guest here for any amount of time in the past, you know that motherhood was no easy task for me. I worked and fought really hard to become a solid mother. Not the best and not the worst, but some balance in the middle that prays my daughters future heath care plans include coverage for therapy. Motherhood for me didn't feel natural, and it took me a long time to figure out what motherhood looked like for me. Thank God Facebook was in its infancy and Instagram had yet to be birthed, because I was already comparing myself to other mothers in real life. Who knows if I could have survived the mommy wars over social media.

Thirteen years later, I am an adolescent mother. 

I'm also going through an awkward and gawky phase. I finally figured out how to mother small children, and now I'm trying to figure out how to navigate teenagers. Adolescence is a transitional phase where a person grows and develops from a child to an adult. I didn't know that parents will do this too. I'm now trying to find my space in between TikTok videos and Instagram filters. I'm now told which photos I can posts and which I cannot. I'm required to be the expert on acne and body odor, but I'm not allowed to make recommendations on such things. Shorts are getting shorter, bathing suits have extra lining, and holy crap we have a stash of "woman supplies". I'm also transitioning and learning how to discipline mini adults who think they know more than me. I've turned into both my mother and my father as I've caught myself saying, "I've been alive 42 years, don't you think I know more about this than you". Not my finest moments, but seriously. I've been alive 42 years, I had the worst acne that required prescription drugs, I know what to put on your face and it's not that stuff you saw on TikTok!

I've always known the dynamics of motherhood. In the beginning it seemed like an endless loop. Early motherhood was like a scene from Groundhog's Day, where you just do the same feeding, diapering, and sleeping for days on end. Then one day you wake up and they don't like that binky or bottle. One day they wake up and they can crawl or walk or feed themselves. They grow and so do you, but nothing ever really prepares you for the day they don't need to cling to your body like a wet t-shirt. Nothing prepares you for the day they don't want to hold your hand in Target. The day they don't want to change in front of you. The day they absolutely do not want you to dance to that song on Spotify because how embarrassing

Recently the transition from having a child to having a teenager looks like stolen moments. For Caitlin and I its laughing at memes before bed. Memes that maybe she shouldn't laugh at, but the kid has got a wicked sense of humor. It looks like secret trips to Starbucks where sometimes she treats me to a drink because I'm driving. Mom I'll buy your Starbucks if you drive. Our transition into adolescence looks like the two of us realizing that neither one of us is perfect and maybe neither one of us has all the answers. It looks like the two of us realizing that none of that means we don't love each other so fiercely that it hurts sometimes. Now that we are thirteen we can say those things to each other, planting better roots as we grow. 

Thirteen is awfully close to fifteen which is awfully close to other teens that I cannot discuss because I'm not emotionally prepared in any way at this time. What I wouldn't give to be up at 4 am with that tiny, sliver, of a human. That little slice of heaven who kept me up until sunrise, who never wanted to sleep, who confused me and made me second guess every single move I made. I'd do it all over again and not change a thing. I sometimes wish I wouldn't have rolled my eyes when people said that it happens so fast. I didn't understand in those wee morning hours that once the days were gone, they were gone. I used to think that it would be so much easier when she was just a little bigger. Big enough for solids. Big enough to walk and talk. Big enough to feed herself. Big enough to... grow up before my eyes. Just one more thing that I could not control as a mother. Once I gave up trying to control every aspect of motherhood I was finally able to enjoy it. Thank God for that. 

Let me tell you how much control I don't have. We ate dinner at 8:45 tonight after a late swim at my moms. The girls are now watching make up tutorials on YouTube and I'm writing this. We will most likely stay up late and I'll set my alarm to go to Starbucks in my pajamas to get the birthday girl her favorite. Her gifts are not wrapped, the house isn't decorated let alone clean, and I still have to make her cake. This is my evolution you guys, this is how I learned to enjoy motherhood. 

Twelve years ago on the eve of Caitlin's first birthday I was prepping food and making sure I had enough balloons. I had her clothes all laid out, the cutest dress, which she took off twenty minutes into the party to run around in the sprinkler in her diaper. Best laid plans let me tell you. Tomorrow will be filled with as much birthday as you can expect in a pandemic. Curbside order at Chik-Fil-A; homemade cake, a parade of cars in our front yard. 

It will be as exactly as motherhood intended. 

Unorganized. Messy. Imperfectly full of love. 

I just wish I could tell that laboring mom on the couch thirteen years ago.

She kind of needed to know. 

Intentional Living: February is the new January


I'm writing this on what feels like the 93rd day of January. It's actually the 30th, but it really does feel like the 93rd. I'm not the only one who feels this way according to all the memes I've seen on social media. It only took me the first week of January to realize that there was no way I was going to motivate or tackle any "resolutions" in January. The month was already off to a less than stellar start, but it also felt like it had been January for a month. It was probably the 8th. 

Ringing in the new year often mean ringing in bigger expectations, loftier goals, and big life changes. The "last 90 days" and the "first 90 days" are real things that trend on Instagram and Twitter. Endless lists gift us with the knowledge on how to be better, live better, and feel better. All in, what feels like, the longest month of the year.

I don't know about other moms, but my kids didn't even go back to school until the second week of the month. We all know that those weeks of winter break don't count. There is no meal schedule or bedtime schedule. Sleeping in is supreme. Meal planning does not exist. Why in the world would anyone start Whole 30 or Dry January when the kids are still home and chaos reigns? 

The week my kids went back to school was a blur of school and dance and some things I volunteered for when January was over a month away. Up was down, left was right and I'm pretty sure we ate chicken nuggets for dinner more than once. As I scrolled my life away before I fell asleep, I felt like a failure because I still had not started or given a thought to resolutions or goals. I was living "new year, same me", and honestly it didn't fee great. I was procrastinating, and I wasn't proud.

Then I realized something, a bit of self actualization. I need to ease into change. Sure, I'm an over-reactor, an overachiever, I'm the mom who yells; but when it comes to life changes, I'm a coward. I do not like change. I resist, like a toddler, feet stomping and flailing on the floor, or something close to it. This realization mid-month helped me realize that I would have to slowly ease into the new year. I realized I could take the month of January to plan, feel out my bad habits I wanted to change, decide on what I wanted to take on as far as goals go. My goals rarely change, but the way I face them has to if I'm ever going to be successful. Which led me to the next realization...

February is the shortest month of the year, and therefore the best month for resolutions.

I've decided that February is the new January.

Hear me out. 

February is only 28 days, usually, this year it's 29, but isn't that better than 31? A shorter month makes it that much easier to meet your goals. Whole 30 becomes Whole 29 this year. Taking a few days off your monthly gym schedule sounds nice, and makes it that much easier to meet your goal. Twenty eight seems like such a nice number, and honestly who is going to know if you use the 29th as a day to celebrate all the good and change you've made in your life this month. Leap year has never sounded so good. 

February is obviously the best month to change your life. 

I was talking to my friend yesterday and told her as much. She told me she was unmotivated and I said of course you are, it's January. All the shine and glitter of New Years Eve was swept up with New Years day, and after that there is nothing shiny about January. I'm sorry. My husband's birthday is in January and even he doesn't want to celebrate it. Well that has more to do with getting older than it being January, but details matter little here. The point is, January is only fresh for about a week, and then everyone wants it to be over. 

If I'm honest, I love the new year, it's freshness, the motivating quotes I pin or post on social media. I love the promise of the new and unknown. I love the anticipation of what's to come. Still, somewhere along the way, I find myself unmotivated and sluggish. I don't think I'm alone in this.

Years ago I gave up making resolutions. They just made me feel bad. A resolution means a firm decision, and those make me anxious. Not meeting a resolution feels like failing. Goals feel more my speed. Goal means "the object of ambition", or a "desired result". Goals can happen and evolve all year. Goals feel like they can change. I found this image on Pinterest and it made total and complete sense to me. They seem attainable and allow for growth. 

Quote Hub on Pinterest

Break a Bad Habit:
My bad habit is a constant struggle for me. I don't wash my make up off before bed. I already know what you're thinking. Every glam/fashion/women's magazine will tell you that not washing your make up off before bed will age your skin. That is why every year it's a goal of mine, and more so this year now that I'm over 40. You guys, I'm over 40!

Learn a New Skill:
This is to be determined. Yoga sounds great. Learning to make macrons sounds even better. If I'm honest it may be as simple as creating a budget and sticking to it. Did you hear that thump? That was my husband passing out in the background.

Do a Good Deed:
Random acts of kindness are my jam. Good deeds come in all shapes and sizes. I'm looking forward to this one, and am open to suggestions.

Visit a New Place:
I'm not sure how this one is going to happen. Traveling that isn't centered around school or dance is rarely on my agenda. Hopefully on one of those trips we will be able to make it to a place unknown that I've never happened upon before. 

Read a Difficult Book:
I actually just read one. A book that is very well loved, but wasn't really loved by me. That seems like cheating, so I'm hoping to read another Jane Austen or Emily Bronte. I find that these are harder for me to read because of the language. Years ago, on this very blog one of my goals for the year was to read Pride and Prejudice. I did it and I wasn't only proud of myself, I was disappointed that it took me so long. I haven't decided on a book yet. I'll keep you posted.

Write and Send a Letter:
If you follow me on Instagram you may realize that I posted this goals graphic on January 1st. This goal stuck with me the most. I've always loved writing and sending letters or cards. With the hours (and I'll be honest it is hours, and I'm working on that too) I spend on social media, sending a letter made me notice how out of touch I've been with some people in my life. I love getting my birthday wishes on Facebook as much as the next girl, but getting a card in the mail makes me incredibly happy. This month I did tackle this goal, and sent three cards to three friends. They loved it and I loved it. I'm hoping to meet this particular goal every month.

Face a Fear:
I'm currently doing this now. Writing on this blog, is tackling one of my fears. I let this piece of my life lapse and get away from me. I let writing get away from me. The fear comes from not inhabiting this space for so long, and allowing myself to come back without any expectations. For years I wrote in this space for the feedback and camaraderie. I'm here now writing for me, sharing because I need it. For my mental health and stability. I've left this space blank for too long, and I'm trying to overcome my fears of basically starting this blog over from almost scratch.

Try Something New:
Yoga. Macrons. Writing Fiction to actually share. Not sure what this will be, but I'm looking forward to it. 

Take a Risk:
Risk means exposing yourself to danger or loss. Whether it's physically or emotionally, I'm not sure what kind of risk I want to take. When I figure it out I'll let you know.

All these goals to say, it's okay if it's January 93rd and you haven't reached a single goal or tackled a single resolution. If your goals or challenges look different than your friends on social media, that's okay too. Now you have the secret, the key to a successful 2020, maybe even the key to life. 

Start on February 1st. 

February is the new January. Your welcome.


Intentional Living: Part One Year End


I ended 2019 in an actual fog of gratitude and grief. The year itself hadn't been all bad, and was poised to end on a high. I was happy and content. I had survived the transition into middle school with my tween. I had just about made it through the holidays. I was ready to have that Holly Jolly Christmas I hear about on the radio. 

Two days before Christmas my beloved grandmother had a massive stroke. Catastrophic is what her doctor called it, and within hours my family and extended family was navigating a huge loss. I did my best to keep it together for my children, who honestly were more concerned with Santa finding us if we traveled on Christmas Eve. It wasn't easy and I found myself constantly repeating "grandmas dying" in my head, as if I wasn't completely drowning in that thought already. 

Those days between Christmas and New Year's, the days that most of us hibernate, were spent reflecting on my year. I spent hours on social media reading articles to jump start the year. Not because I'm of the "new year, new me" mindset, but somewhere I was hoping to find some motivation. What did I want to do with my brand new year? Who did I want to become? Everything I read didn't feel right, didn't exactly fit well. Until I stumbled upon this article about ending the year intentionally. 

It's easy to be blinded on all the folks on social media with their "New Year New Me" diets and work out regimens. The multiple posts about being your best self, building your best self, finally taking chances. I wasn't ready to "bet on me" or "do the things that scare me". I really needed to reflect and find some clarity while I was so overwhelmed with grief. It helped me examine the last year with new eyes and find some good when I was feeling so bad. 

10 Questions to end 2019 Intentionally (These questions are totally paraphrased. Please visit the article for the real deal.)

What makes this year unforgettable?
Obviously the standout was my grandmother dying at the close of 2019. Just writing it in my notebook made it so real, but also opened me up. I was able to think about other things that made the past year unforgettable. I stayed married. You can laugh all you want but every year I stay married is a victory in my book. The Husband and I have had some hard years in the last part of the decade. Closing this year and decade married was a success in my view. My girls grew and thrived. They danced more, and enjoyed themselves so much. Caitlin completed elementary school and went on to middle school. There were so many changes and then when I think about it not that many. Our trip to Disneyland was pretty amazing too, so I'll add that. 

What did I enjoy doing this year?
Going gray. Honestly letting my hair grow in it's new natural color was liberating. I've been trying to cover my gray hair consistently since I was in my 20s. I was at the point that I needed to touch up my roots every three to four weeks, I just couldn't do it anymore. I gave myself six weeks to let it grow and decide if it was the right thing for me. I spent countless hours on Instagram looking at the SilverSisters hashtag. I'll admit, it was rough at first, people asked a lot of questions, it seemed shocking for someone my age (41 by the way) to not cover their roots. Finding the right mix of shampoos and conditioners helped. After years of using boxed dyes, my hair was so damaged, it was starting to fall out. The best part of the entire thing? I wasn't hiding anymore. I was constantly preoccupied with covering my roots. Every big event, every photo taken, I worried that my roots were showing. So I gave up, and set myself free. It has been the best thing I've done for myself in years. The added perk? I get compliments on it all the time. To the point that I've been asked for my colorist's number twice!

Who/What am I grateful for?
My health. My family. My friends. I am surrounded by amazing people. I'm so grateful for them.

Biggest Win this year?
I made it. Emotionally. Financially. It seems simple, but these are two of my biggest stressors. 

What did I read/watch/listen?
Read: Daisy Jones and the Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. Summer of '69 by Elin Hilderbrand. One Day in December by Josie Silver. All excellent. Daisy Jones is written in a way that as a writer was inspiring. Summer of '69 was such a fun read and had some historical elements that I loved. Plus I'll read whatever Elin Hilderbrand writes, so... I read one day in December last January. It was the first book I read last year. It was everything you love about Holiday Rom-Coms. If you love Nancy Myers, you will love this book. 
Watch: The Handmaids Tale, which, as always, was thought provoking, infuriating, and completely engaging at the same time. Elisabeth Moss is everything. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel is so well written and incredibly funny that I'm convinced that Amy Sherman Palladino is too good for us. Plus the ensemble cast cannot be beat! Side note: I binged watched the West Wing last year. I think I was the last person on Earth my age who had never seen it. I'm not going to lie, I loved it with my whole heart. I cried almost every episode, and it made me yearn for 90s politics, and I never thought I'd say or type that!
Listen: Lizzo and Bille. There were no others. 

What impact did these read/watch/listen selections have on you? 
What is fantastic about reading, watching, and listening, is that they essentially doing the same thing, telling a story. The books I read last year inspired me to write, but also inspired me to really listen and engage in the stories being told. The shows I watched were not just entertaining but thought provoking. The Handmaids Tale remains the scariest thing on television! Lizzo showered me and my daughters in girl power. I am constantly surrounding myself with pop culture, because it's always an inspiration. 

What did I worry about the most? How did it turn out?
Money. I'm constantly worried about money. Which is funny because my husband's long running household chore is being in charge of the bills. Still, every swipe, every withdraw for "dance" incidentals, makes me sweat. It always turns out fine, but it will always give me anxiety.

Biggest Regret?
Before December 23rd, my answer would have been completely different. I would have said not submitting any of my writing. I would have said not writing and blogging more. But now, as I start 2020 it's not spending enough time with my grandma. I regret not calling her more. I regret never getting her life story down on paper. There are many regrets at this time.

What is the 1 thing I changed about myself?
As I said before, my hair. It changed me emotionally as well as physically. It helped me embrace aging. The old commercial about "growing old gracefully"? Well they didn't mention that you'd have to be graceful emotionally as well. That's been harder than the physical part.

What surprised me the most?
That 2019 closed A DECADE. Ten years. I didn't even realize it until all those "Last 90 days" posts on social media. So many incredible, heartbreaking, mind numbing, brave, ugly, happy, sad things happened in the last 10 years. I changed as a person multiple times. I became a mom of two in the last decade. I went back to work, quit, and then went back again. I became a blogger and a writer. I grew into motherhood. I grew into my marriage. I stumbled and got back up again. So much life was lived in what did not seem like ten years. 

If I could go back to January 1st, 2019 what would I suggest to myself?
Call Grandma Now. Write every day, even when it hurts. Exercise in any way, walking is still moving. Take more pictures, your Instagram is looking sad girl! Be easy on yourself, it has never been about perfection. LOVE, LOVE, LOVE. 

After years of neglecting this space, I'm thankful if you found your way back and had a look around. I'm hoping to visit this space more often in the coming year. 


The Open and the Close (Seventh grade)

"I open at the close" - JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

The day of Caitlin's sixth grade promotion, all I could think about was the line, "I open at the close". JK Rowling is the master of feelings and emotions, so it seemed appropriate that it became my mantra for the day and the summer that followed. With every ending is a new beginning, so standing at the close, meant that soon enough there would be an open. I had to keep telling myself this, otherwise my emotions overwhelmed me. I did not adequately anticipate the feelings of that day or the days leading up to the end of her sixth grade year. In the back of my mind, seventh grade, "JR HIGH", was a whole year away. In fact, a year ago this week, the idea of having a child in seventh grade was a funny joke that I laughed off because how ridiculous the notion? Until, that unusually overcast day in June, Sixth Grade Promotion Day, I found myself at the close. For most, and many parents I talked to, the end of sixth grade is just that, simply the end of another school year. No promotion or graduation needed, but for me the end seemed monumental. It still seems monumental today, being I dropped her off at her new school this morning. A school that seems impossibly big for my baby girl. My baby who is laughably almost taller than I am. 

The memories that flowed at the end of sixth grade brought along a deluge of other memories. That surprised me. Motherhood is incredible in that way. It allows for self reflection at the most inopportune times. When you have to be happy and celebratory, and all you want to do is reflect and curl into a ball and cry. Here I was at the 'close', thinking about all of the wonderful and amazing things my daughter accomplished this year, while simultaneously thinking about how incredibly insane it felt that she actually did those things. Caitlin is my daughter that didn't sleep or latch. She cried many days and nights, while I spent most of those same days and nights in my rocking chair, almost catatonic. Wondering if she would ever stop, sleep, or even eat. She eventually stopped and ate, but has only taken five naps in her lifetime, maybe. She cried every day of preschool and every day of first grade. (Kindergarten was obviously a gap year for her.) She refused to participate in choir performances her first and third grade years. Caitlin was the child that wouldn't let me leave her at a birthday party, a dance class, or even with family members at times. Her separation anxiety was such that I rarely went anywhere the first two years of her life, and when I did, I was so stressed that I didn't even enjoy myself. Caitlin has always been the child that challenges me in every possible way and pushes every damn button possible. Why would I share any of this out loud? Because...

That same child full of fear and anxiety was the first student up on the zip line at sixth grade camp this year. I watched her climb the pole and across the tiny high wire to the platform, then off she went into the great unknown. Well not really the unknown, but I have a great video to prove it where you can hear me audibly sigh at the end of the video, because she did it and also she was still alive! I was also proud and amazed that she was so brave. So confident and so sure of herself. It was breathtaking. The same child that refused to sing in the school choir for two years, tried out for a solo for the spring concert and was picked for a duet. She sang her heart out that night, and will be in the concert choir at her new Jr High. The same girl who cried at drop off all those mornings was the same girl who ran for leadership secretary. She volunteered in multiple lower grade classrooms working with kids on reading and math. She performed with her schools pep and cheer teams. She also accepted a class assignment with the Autism class at her school to help with their exercise program, requiring a twice monthly bus ride off site. That same baby who didn't sleep. The same child who cried every day. The same child who wouldn't let me leave the house without her ever... did all of these things. Twelve years ago, sitting in my rocking chair trying to soothe her never ending cries, I would have never dreamed of such things. I don't think I could have dreamed such things, because everything seemed so hard and far away in those days. I had no idea that we would come so far in so little time.

I've been standing at the close for the entire summer. Reflecting on the past twelve years. Twelve years of motherhood and growth, life lessons and milestones. How is it possible that as the milestones become few and farther between, they carry so much more weight. These days the milestones are solid. My daughter finished sixth grade. The elementary school where I've dropped her off for over six years is no longer her school. Milestones that are just as important as cutting a tooth or taking first steps, but today's milestones feel concrete. Permanent and strategic for optimum emotion.

Today we are at the open, my daughter and I, whether she realizes it or not. Seventh grade is the beginning. A new school. Seven classes with seven teachers I may never meet. Seven different homework assignments at any time. Today is the open, new activities, new electives, new friends to be made, new challenges to be met in the years to come. At the open, my oldest daughter looks every bit the part of the teenager. At the open, the drop off goodbyes are shorter, no more lingering for a second kiss goodbye. At the open, she sends me text messages of funny tik tok videos and selfies. Text messages that allow us to communicate in a way that pushes zero buttons. Today, at the open, she called me to let me know her science teacher is cool, she is dropping her zero period class, and she sounds absolutely fine at that impossibly big school.

At the open, I'm the mom of a seventh grader wondering how I got here on minimum sleep and maximum emotion. It just doesn't seem possible. 


Staying True


How do you tell a story that isn’t yours?

You don’t.

It’s not a trick question, it’s a real and honest one.

In 2011, when I started this blog, the only requirement I had for myself was to be honest. To tell the truth, even if it was hard and ugly. At the time, and over the years, I’ve done that. Sharing stories about my life as a mother and a friend; sometimes as a wife and a daughter. I took great strides to be relatable. To make my readers feel included and invited. I didn’t want anyone to feel alone. My blog was a way for me to shout, Here I am, I’m doing this too.

And for most of these years, I’ve been here. Doing this too.

Until recently.

For about a year and a half, I’ve had to censor myself. I’ve had feelings to share, but to do so would hurt other people in my life. It would shed light on things that are ugly and, while relatable, hurtful. I thought that ignoring these feelings wouldn’t impact me creatively at all. I thought, naively, I would just write about something else.

I didn’t. I couldn’t. 

I felt that anything I wrote never sounded as authentic as me being ugly and raw with my words. I’ve written things in this last year and a half. Ugly things. Hurtful things. But they are on paper or stuck in my email somewhere. Those scraps and snippets sound authentic to my ears. Still, I have yet to publish those.

I can’t publish those. 

Well. I can. Though at this time it would be costly and hurtful. 

Instead I’ve paused. Spending more time in fictional worlds. Reading and writing. Watching Netflix, because right now fictional worlds are easier to live in.

In avoiding my authentic voice of non fiction, I have cultivated a voice of fiction. I had not visited any of those stories in months, but today, I read pieces that I had done. Surprised to see that they are coherent and thoughtful. A small world I could live in. Albeit a fake one. 

I’m fine. I promise. Honestly sometimes the emotional weight of things is just that. Weight. To be completely honest, not all the weight belongs to me. Its shared. But this space here is not shared, so I hit pause. 

I’m hoping, little by little I can share more of my authentic self. Once you stop writing it’s like anything else. It’s hard to start again. By writing this I feel it’s a start. A first step. 

To tell a story that is half way mine. 

DIYMFA writing prompt. Check it out