People have told me for years… “You need to write a book. I’d buy it in a heartbeat.”
Well… let me let you in on a secret… I have no idea how to write a book. My grammar is atrocious… and spelling… HA! I can’t imagine anyone would pay to read about the crap that goes through this head. I can hardly complete a three-step task without getting side-tracked…. And, well, honestly… I’m not sure where to start. The day I was born? Today, and work backwards? And really…. I don’t have great advice. I don’t know how to cook. I am not a super successful self-made millionaire.
I’m a mom. A wife. A daughter. An employee. A teacher at heart. A storyteller. An ever-striving-to-be-enough woman-child who wants to be everything to everyone in every situation. And guess what… I never am. I always come up short. I never quite hit the mark. I’m a walking cluster-f*ck. (Sorry… should have giving a warning about language.) I’m scattered… always moving in 23 directions at one time. I over-think. I over-share. I’m reactive. I’m inappropriate. I’m emotionally defunct. I’m a whole-hearted kinda girl. I can’t half-ass it. I take on more than I can chew. I get overwhelmed. I’m exhausted. I’m always striving to be more. And I never quite get to the imaginary finish line.
Social media came into my life once I was already a momma. I had two young kiddos, a police officer hubby with a crazy schedule and was trying to climb up my own career ladder. I never tried to sugar coat my life in posts. I shared snapshots of reality. Kids with mismatching shoes. All the outtakes of getting the one perfect Christmas photo. The behind the scenes reality that you just have to embrace and laugh at. That’s me. I am the behind the scenes reality.
But am I really? I still only show others the picture I want them to see – as imperfect as it is. I don’t ever let people all the way in. So while I pride myself on being authentic… am I? (See, here’s the overthinking and oversharing.)
I find writing therapeutic. And since I don’t know how to write a book…. I figured I’d start a blog. I don’t expect anyone to read it. But…. Maybe putting pen to paper… or in this case finger to keyboard… well…. Let’s just call it an experiment… a journey… a replacement for those baby books I never put together. Sorry kids! You’re never gonna know when you got your first tooth. You were probably between 6-12 months old (according to Google). What can I say? Mom of the year.
So anyway… stop in… stay a while… or scroll on by. Either way…. I’ll be here. Polishing my soapbox. Trying to remember what I ate for breakfast so I can log it for the day. 😉
Well, Since You're Here 