At It Again

Quiet would be one word to describe the last few months of my writing.

Isolated, fearful, and tired would be further descriptive. Of my words, and my soul.

While it can appear that writers are raw and open, honest at the risk of oversharing, I find that that I hide behind my written words. In this medium I have time as well as resources to finesse and edit each point. Filter it in a way that you see just what I want you to.

Extending that thought, I want you to like what you read. Dare I say I want you to love it. Love me. To write in that way when I feel nowhere near likeable, let alone loveable, is a boldface lie. And that, I can’t do.

I’ve shrunken down in size over these last several months. I’ve outsourced a lot of what I typically do. I’ve stopped doing anything extra. From the minute I wake up to the minute the boys heads hit their pillows I’m in survival mode. What can I do and what can I say in order to make the next moment go smoothly, and the next, and the next. Somedays I feel like I have done as best I could, others I am ashamed and disappointed in myself.

The thought of writing, at least writing anything real, has felt out of reach, overwhelming. This takes time, time I don’t have, or time I have chosen not to dedicate to this part of my life. I’ve recently thought though that this is the part that makes me feel more me. Without a doubt I need more of that.

So, hello old friends. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed the musical sound of the keyboard, the rhythm and flow of these words, the lightness that inevitably comes from putting it all together and setting it free.

Intolerable

What do you allow?

Are there things that drive you crazy, make you blood boil or your skin crawl, but you stay silent?

I am finding that it’s more difficult for me to speak up than to tolerate things that make me uncomfortable.

In a way it seems that I’m used to being uncomfortable, one way or another; so why make waves?

If I’m going to be inconvenienced either way, at least I don’t have to hurt you, or worse, give you a reason to be mad at me.

God, my need to be liked and loved overshadows all of my other needs. I know it isn’t healthy and yet I allow you to blur my lines just to keep the peace.

To correct this would take hard conversations for me. That says something because I don’t often have a problem talking.

The thing is, I will lose something no matter which route I take. The tough part is putting my feelings above yours. It’s getting sick and tired of being uncomfortable.

Luckily for me, I’m growing. In this growth I’m learning to do hard things. Sometimes it just takes me a while to gather up the courage.

Unluckily for you, I’m no longer willing to be a doormat, security blanket, or worse, your mama…

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