While packing today, I ran across
some old journals of mine. Journals that are bursting with pages from my
previous MySpace blog, written during the time when MySpace dominated the world
of social networking. Also written before the appearance of both Lucy and
Lily-Anne. I perused these writings for about a half an hour before I realized
that I used to write, A LOT! Thoughts flowed freely, and easily, on each page.
Small happenings from my day became subjects for my writing. Thoughts my brain
had been playing with turned into blog entries unhindered by my judgment. My
fingers didn’t stall, stop, and stall again in an attempt to capture and record
my emotions as they do now. Instead they typed quickly without hesitation or
regret.
I rarely read through writings of
the past. When I do, I usually feel foolish or embarrassed by my naiveté during
those times. Surprisingly, these emotions were not present today. Instead, I
felt a sense of pride in my ability to write without fear of judgment. I felt a
sense of pride in the way I expressed my emotions so freely. I felt proud of
how easily I took care of myself. And I realized that I have changed and I have
grown. Much of the growth and change that I have experienced has shaped me into
a more humble individual. However, reading my past writing has made me realize
that I have also experienced a great deal of loss, loss that has made me my own
worst enemy.
The arrival of two children has led
to a loss of time, energy, and self care. At one time, I had all the time in
the world. Besides work and a husband, my responsibilities were few. Little
responsibility and a lot of time gave me, what seem today, inordinate amounts
of energy to care for myself. At one
point in time, I worked out 1-2 hours a day, 6-7 days a week. I also treated myself to facials, pedicures,
and highlighted hair on a regular basis. I traveled and I slept. All this
self-care enabled me to put two coherent thoughts together, so I wrote.
Today, the demands of two children,
a husband, and a house not only occupy the majority of my time but also zap
most of my energy. I do not have 1-2 hours a day, every day, to work out.
Fitting in a half an hour can sometimes be a challenge. Professional facials,
pedicures, and highlights are a thing of the past. I am now responsible for
treating myself when I have 15 minutes, which generally occurs at the end of
the day, when my energy is so low I want to do nothing more than crawl into
bed. It takes every ounce of energy to floss and brush my teeth most nights. I
sleep, but not the deep sleep of one without cares or worries. Instead, I sleep
lightly, attuned to every creak on every step and board, my ears constantly
aware of the sounds Lucy and Lily-Anne make both when awake and asleep. Lack of
time, energy, and self care, has made my blog postings sporadic and often times
not of the caliber quality I am capable of producing. My ability to put
coherent thoughts together only sporadically has made me judgmental toward my
writing. My exhaustion has made me guarded, unable to open myself emotionally
for fear I will be thought of as, “negative” “unhappy” or “miserable”.
My old journals reflect an
individual untouched by the stresses that life can create. An individual who
knows not the pressures and anxiety that motherhood can produce. The individual
expressed in those past writings lacks the wisdom that life can offer. However,
I have quite a bit to learn from that individual and those writings. She knew
about balance. She knew how to make time to care for herself physically,
emotionally, and spiritually. She understood that her writing was a way of not
only expressing her emotions, but also a way of connecting with individuals
near and far. She reserved her judgment and wrote what was both in her mind and
in heart. That individual and those writings will haunt me each time I sit down
at my keyboard and, with any luck, inspire me to be both a better person and a
better writer.
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