I know how it looks. I know from the outside peering in the fact that I’m writing a book while raising four kids seems a little crazy.
I think about what other people might guess about me who don’t know me well. Oh she must have a nanny. Her husband must make a ton of money so she doesn’t have to worry about earning a living. She has some major organizational skills.
False. False. False.
The truth is I’m drowning. At least for five days out of the week my head is spinning. I am making up for something I’ve forgotten. I’m stepping over the same mess I’ve stepped over 27 other times. I’m yo-yoing back-and-forth between gentle understanding mom and frustrated pulling her hair out mom. I am in serious survival mode over here and yet I still find time to write.
I’m finding time to write because I insist on it. I’m finding time to write because of all the things I can’t control I can control planning for a couple of hours where I dedicate myself to my craft. I’m finding time because I have no choice.
Writing is my life preserver.
On days I write I fill up an emotional bank that allows me to do the little things. That allows me to do the hard things.
I’ve made it no secret that some days I struggle with my work-at-home mom role. I am so grateful to get to make an income doing a job I love and also see my babies grow every day. For all purposes, I am a very lucky woman. But I have dreams that keep me up at night and that scratch to get out during the day. And if I don’t itch that scratch my mood and the whole house go downhill.
I’ve been in a motherly role since I was 22 years old and now that I am in my 30s it’s becoming more and more clear just how vital it is to have a space that belongs only to me.
Don’t look at other moms achieving things or working out or getting massages and assume that they are doing something better than you are doing. Those moms have just decided what the few things are that they need to stay afloat and have insisted on time for them.
I’m still learning every day just how important that is but I’m finding that the more I insist on it the less anyone else seems to care what I’m doing it. It’s the times before you start taking care of yourself that you think doing so will ruin everybody around you. Once you’re actually in it you realize there’s a lot more “you space” you can claim for yourself.
For me that space is writing. But once I claimed that for myself and made that time I realized I could do it again. And now I’m making time for exercise. And I’m hoping that the next step I make is a vacation with just my husband (it’s been four years).
Take the first step to claiming that number one most important thing for yourself and start discovering how much more you can have and that you were the only one ever limiting that in the first place.