So, I’ve been kind of uninspired to write this week. I don’t know why. I mean, this little space is so fun for me. So inspiring in itself. And my subjects. My “muses”. Those three are just endless sources of content. Endless streams of post ideas.
And while life has been crazy as usual. And there are a million things I could write about. Could rant about. I still find myself, jaw in palm, mindlessly scrolling through tabs of other blogs.
I think through what’s going on right now:
He started school again. And somehow by labeling it Pre-K, I feel the desperate need to hold on to him. To take advantage of every day I have with him. That sweet boy. My first. You’re still all mine yet I feel you being shared with the rest of the world.
Your independence gained is my indispensability lost.
But boy are you worth sharing.
His therapy program ends at his third birthday. And after that…well, we’re really left with two options:
1. Pay out of pocket to stay with his current therapists.
2. Put him in the special ed classes in Public School.
He really doesn’t qualify for that last one. He’s not really in need of “special ed”. He just needs some more therapy — especially speech. And well, the date of his therapy ending is ticking down like a time bomb. I feel like I am searching every single moment to find a way to turn it off. And I finally had to reach the conclusion that I can’t stop it. Time. It’s moving. And I am going to have to be the bomb shelter for my little family when it finally blows.
Welp. She’s walking. Like, not just toddling. You know, legit walking. Climbing. Attempted running. Dancing. She’s on the move. And I am so… not ready. It’s hard for all of the obvious reasons. She’s just into everything. And she’s creative in getting her way. Then, when she can’t get her way? She lets out the most blood-curdling scream. We need said bomb shelter simply to protect us from that scream. But it’s hard for a deeper reason too.
She’s my last. My baby. And I just can’t picture my life without some stage of baby in it.
And with all of this going on. All of these emotions and changes. It’s still there. Writer’s block.
Until, my man came home today — earlier than usual — and let me go write. He knows me. He knows that this space gives more to me than just a place to scrapbook my memories.
So I left like I always do. And here I sit. In this little coffee shop. With the dark of the night outside. And the static sound of all the voices around me. The conversations I am not a part of. The rhythmic typing on laptops. This cafe. It inspires me all on its own.
I am thumbing around on my phone. Scrolling through my own Instagram feed. I am narcissistic like that. And here is where I start to #humblebrag… Here is what drives me to stalk my own Instagram page. Mainly, I think I just might have the cutest funniest adorable kids on this planet. Man, they are wonderful in this real life I live. But secondarily, it’s these pictures. Sometimes, I capture it. That moment. That look in their eyes. And when I do? I slap a VSCO filter on it, stop everything, and Instagram the shit out of it. So of course I like to revisit those pictures. Here they are. All stacked on top of each other.
This beautiful highlight reel of my life.
I mean, who doesn’t love a good highlight reel? Lose the bad. Save the good. And hold on to this “best-of” memory.
But for me, it’s even more than that.
Lets back up for a second. Spare me a moment while I derail you with my sob story. I was the girl with almost no friends in high school. It was a time where just remembering the loneliness makes my stomach drop. When I was searching for something — anything — of meaning to me. Something to give me that “this is what I was meant to do” feeling. Something to encourage me to dig myself out of my dark space. I lived with a fear of failure to pursue anything new. One that left me paralyzed. It was a lostness that only by the grace of God was I able to find my way out of. Brooks. That moment of becoming his momma. That first breath he took on my chest. I instantly felt it. “This is what I was meant to do”. And the climb out of the darkness wasn’t instant. But I kept searching. Kept throwing darts at the proverbial wall of the true me. And slowly but surely, this life God has put in front of me has started to teach me. To show me where my place is in it. And the pieces are continually falling into place. And I find my heart changed on some issues. Encouraged and strengthened on others. And with this new me, I am continually carving out a life for myself. That feels real and authentic. And inspiring all on it’s own. And through this journey, writing has become a part of my soul. A passion. A form of therapy. And this blog. Has given me a place to grow by putting myself out there. And while my stats are nothing impressive. It doesn’t matter. But to me. To the lonely girl with no friends. With no followers. Well. It is everything. And one comment. One “like” on a stupid Instagram — the internet version of a high-five. It is a vote for me. For this new me. Who is learning that being an open book. That being real. And personable. And having a heart for this world. Is something that makes me who I am meant to be. So, you know what, I’ll take it. I need it. I eat that shit up.
Which brings me back to my feed. I flip through it. I look at all of my pictures. Especially the recent ones that have more than 10 likes. You know, that magic number where it shifts to a number instead of names? And lately, most pictures make that shift — I know, I am an idiot, a self-admitted loser! But I remember the girl who started this journey with two followers. My husband and my sister. For a long time.
This blog. My “highlight reel”. It has given me a platform to change. To expose the new me — the ever evolving me — to the world. Especially to the people who knew the old me. The entitled and cold version. It gives me a place to show them that I have changed. I didn’t like that girl either. And now, not a day goes by that I don’t get a new follower. Or a new like on a photo. And it feels good. And it reinforces my love for this space. Not because it will make me popular (ha! I wish.) But because it reminds me to keep digging out of that lost dark hole I was so deeply buried inside. And those likes. Those views. Those comments. They’re the sun beams from the outside world. They’re all I need to keep going. To keep growing.
Change is hard enough. It’s nice not to have to do it alone.