If you ask me how many lives I've lived I couldn't exactly tell you. There are so many.
I've lived the childhood of great adventure.
And the one of immense hurt.
I have been a teenager and done all of those teenage things.
Yet I grew up rather quickly. Maybe I was always older...
My early twenties presented me with death and love.
Both brought their own lessons.
I learned that I could feel more deeply and believe what my heart lead to
I also learned that I could lose what I loved the most in the world
And to not take things for granted.
My thirties brought children and true love was discovered.
Nothing ever rocked my world stronger than the two little girls God put me in charge of...
Yet nothing could ever have prepared me for the heartache it takes to mother those two.
I love them. I dislike them. I am not sure I am doing things right. Yet I know I will not stop being their mom. That is my purpose in life.
Now into my forties I wonder - my kids are turning out okay. They have issues and please school me on any who do not. I have issues and I work them out with several outlets of help because...motheringisfuckinghard.
I have also discovered that I just might want a change of life. You know, the kind that makes you, well you.
I am a nomad. I like quiet. I want silence.I want to be the substance in my girls lives. I want to teach them to be strong, smart, independent, motivated, confident, and self-reliant.
Now - in order to do that I must be that. Isn't it time to finally be me?
The me that I have wanted for so long yet put off.
For what?
Why?
I won't make excuses or reason. I will simply say, I have worked far too hard to make my family into what it is right now. I won't quit being strong for them.
I just wonder, when is it okay to be me?
