Hello again! It’s been a while.
I think about writing often, but when I find a few free moments to sit at the computer I get lost as to what to write. Well, not so much what to write, but who to write as.
Who am I today?
Well I’m happy to report that on this day I write to you as New Mother…
That’s right, I took the plunge. I guess technically my daughter Grace made the jump, I just provided her with the ledge to leap from. This has been quite an adventure which I’m sure we’ll talk more about in the future, but I’m still processing it all myself, so words do not yet come easily.
Nor does sleep apparently!
My current focus, aside from the condition of my boobs and my daughter’s diapers, is trying to define my life. With this challenge comes a new writer’s block that I’ve never experienced before. It’s odd because anyone that knows me would have a hard time believing that I could be so short for words, but right now it’s true. After an exhausting brain battle, one that I forced myself to fight today while my daughter napped, I realized that I can’t decide what to write because I can’t decide whose voice to use. When I first started this blog my brother, a gifted writer and popular blogger, asked me what my purpose was going to be. I got a little irritated with him because I didn’t think I needed a “purpose.” I just wanted to write, and if I captured someone’s attention and offered a word to relate to along the way then that was good enough. As time went on, however, I found the reward of writing to not equal the trouble. Without a goal my words didn’t matter. If not to me then it certainly wouldn’t to anyone else. So I just couldn’t justify spending the time on this verbal meander when there were already so many other aspects of my life suffering from neglect. But 9 months of pregnancy provides many still moments to rest everything but your brain. That particular muscle stays very active, and with the limited mobility of your body and fewer opportunities for distraction, thoughts combined with raging hormones produce a mental chaos of usually hidden fears and anxieties colliding with idle hopes and dreams. Your attention span is reduced to getting where you’re going, but not remembering why you went there. There you stand confused and disoriented, an easy target for your hormones to beat you up some more for being a hopeless mess. Overall it’s a tiresome war that only time can resolve, but the highlights that kept me moving through that madness were surprise moments of clarity. My energy and motivation changed focus from being on the go with a to do list in hand to staying still and present in those moments of private reflection and to harness those thoughts for future examination. Soon I concluded that all of these thoughts shared a common theme. And then it hit me, a pregnant epiphany. Dare I tell the truth about what I was experiencing? Could I possibly speak of pregnancy in a negative way and still be respected? What if I pointed out that not every second of this was fun, that in fact most of the time I was miserable? Would people still accept me? If I said it out loud would I be able to forgive and accept myself? Should I, could I, be honest?
And there it was.
The purpose of my blog:
The unfiltered, full octane, emotional reality that society makes us ashamed to speak of and that we ourselves judge each other for… The Truth of Being A Woman… Partner, Leader, Mentor, Cook, Mom… and all of our other endless job titles.
While we, women, are so concerned with impressing each other, the loneliness of truth is suffocating us. The sad irony of it is that while we rarely share unconditional acceptance, we all share fear. Why can’t we tell the truth and then support each other for being brave enough to admit what we all truly feel? Why can’t the norm be celebrating honesty and our judgment result from lies? Don’t get me wrong here, I’m just as guilty as the next person. I see a struggling woman inconveniencing everyone else with her chaos, I roll my eyes and think pull it together lady. Why? Does it make me feel better to separate myself from her? Perhaps. Am I afraid that identifying with her struggle will somehow shine light on my own? Definitely. So now that I recognize this, can I change it? Motherhood has certainly set me on a new path. I’ve had more meltdowns in the last 2 months than in all of the rest of my 35 years of life. I’ve asked for more help and appreciated more support and advice than ever before. And for the first time in my life, I’ve cherished my friend’s vulnerability and honesty because they’ve welcomed mine. This is new ground for me, but I’m hopeful that soon enough it will feel like home.
If not for me, than I hope for the newest woman in my life, my daughter.