Words.

Writing down my feelings has always been a significant release for me. Its taken weight off my shoulders, unpacking the emotions that have come with the complications of life.  I know I’m not unique. Everyone’s lives are wrought with hard things. Struggling is the human experience. How we deal with the struggle is key. Writing always helped me find the benefits of the fight.

As the timespan between blogs lengthens each time I press post, I’ve been struggling to find the lessons in the hard things. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write, it’s almost as though I have too much. All my thoughts and worries are disjointed.

Maybe because I have a million and one of them.

I want to find my center again, and I’m coming here to find it.

But what words do I use?

Where do I begin?

My thoughts used to flow through my fingers to the keyboard effortlessly, and now the sit in my head, swirling…overwhelming…stifling my growth.

I suppose I just need to let go.

Let go of the insecurities that come with being a new stepmother.

Let go of the pain of leaving Ryan’s family in California.

Let go of the constant concern for my children’s mental and physical wellbeing.

Let go of the longing for new friends and connection.

Let go of beating myself up for not living up to the standards I set for myself.

Let go of the sadness of all the loss.

Let go of the worry that what I give won’t be enough.

But if I let go of all of that, what will be left?

An empty shell?  A superficial wasteland of insincerity?

If I must keep it all with me, how can I find the joyful, secure woman I long to be? I see glimpses of her, but being a woman means feelings.

I’m not a robot.

I’m a contradiction. I hold all my worries close, but at the same time I harbor an immense gratefulness for the blessings in my life. The yin and yang pull me in either direction. A constant tug-o-war of bliss and pain.

I suppose that’s the human experience in a nutshell.

The thing is, I believe I was a spirit before I was a human. I believe that this spirit is an organism dwelling inside of me waiting for nourishment, and waiting for me to let go of the worry and focus on my faith that, in the end, all will be well.

Change is hard.

Feeling I'm letting people down is hard.

But if I’m trying my best, what more can I do?

I suppose all there is, is prayer.

He’s healed me before, He can heal me again.

I read this quote recently: “And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”

― Haruki Murakami

I’m not the person I was a few years ago. Last year in school I expected absolute perfection of myself. At times it was debilitating. Who is this person? It seems I’m just having growing pains getting used to this new skin. I internalize things on a different level and want more than anything for my children, my husband, my extended family, and those around me to have joy…and when they don’t…I feel so responsible for it all. And when you’re surrounded by six teenagers, three with a disease that demands their attention 24/7, there is always some kind of angst.

It’s a lot to hold.

Don’t get me wrong, I hold it gladly.

But more than anything, I want to walk out the door, feel the sun on my face, raise my arms in the air and say, “I am enough!”

I guess I won’t know for sure if I was until all the kids are out on their own and aren’t complete messes...meaning they can feed themselves and remember to brush their teeth...

But one day, I have faith that while sitting on my child’s couch, I’ll watch a grandchild take their first steps. And then it will hit me, “Whoa. I was enough. I really was.”

“And they will be too.”