living YOUR best life

So I just wrote about this on Insta - Do you say Insta? All the kids do, so, why not, ha.

But this is the thing. 

It is EXHAUSTING sometimes to try and be the person everyone says you should be to live your "best life" ESPECIALLY the folks on Insta. 

I am tired. Tired of the pressure. Fuck it. It makes me want to swear. It's all the pressure from the June days, still, in a new form. Instead of baking bread and canning my own pickles I am trying to actualize my life by having a morning routine that includes yoga and deep breathing and visualizing my success and my top three goals for the day and....etc. etc. etc. 

Listen. None of this is easy. 

Mothering. Healing. Juggling. Balancing. Self care. Productivity. Flourishing. Acceptance. Boundaries. Me time. Self love. 

I mean. There is SO MUCH that we are supposed to be thinking about. It’s exhausting, trying to be a woman, a single mom, a business owner. We are told so many things must command our attention. 

Have your morning routine! They tell us. What about a chore chart? They suggest. Did you try using Asana? How about yoga? Do you have a good daily planner? Are you getting up an hour before the kids? You should journal daily. Are you eating clean? 

Just. I CANT ANYMORE.

So many well intentioned yet impossible to implement it all ideas. 

PLEASE. I AM TRYING. 

In any case. 

What do we do? What do you do? When all of those you-should-just-try I-really-should-do feelings start surfacing??? Me? I get cranky.

But. I am rocking a new mom hair cut. (I realize I am following Robin Wrights progression of hair cuts, by the way. Although she never did do dreads. HA. Long Princess Bride hair, and now, mid-40s Robin Wright hair. Next is 50s House of Cards hair.) And the dog ate my glasses SO I GET TO BUY NEW ONES ha. (no seriously ATE them, like crunched the glass) 

And. You know what? We can do this. Folks. Folks. We can. 

And sometimes we have to put it all down. Grab the dog and the kids and go hike by the river. 

Because only YOU know your life, your rhythm, what works for you. And all those ideas are well and good but DONT let your idea of living this perfectly productive organized life get in the way of you living YOUR life. You know?? 

Onward! 

(When your baby is tired, even if he is five, you tie two shirts around your body and create a baby carrier and get the job done. 💪 )

new self/old self

Hey folks. 

It's me. June/Sara.

It's been so long. But, I'm gonna tell you about it, most of the everythings anyway, but just to get this out. I MISS WRITING. These pages that are so simple "title" "text" "image" "PUBLISH" have a way of letting me get things out I didn't know were inside of me. Or things that I knew I needed to say but didn't know how to say. And now, well. That is the story.

See, when it all went down, eons ago, but really only 3 years ago, something inside of me wouldn't allow me to write. Not here. Not at all. I tried numerous times to pick up old writing projects, blog here, write there. But I couldn't. I had some kind of clog inside of me. Oh, I am too busy, that is all, I told myself. 

And of course, I was. And am. But it was more than that, more than "it's not a writing time of life for you Sara."

It was wounds. Writing has a way of opening your soul. You writers out there know what I am talking about. The wall collapses. The windows open. Our fingers fly quicker than our thoughts and suddenly things come out that we weren't prepared for, not ready to see. Or, in good times, things that amaze and thrill us. MY GOD THAT CAME OUT OF MY HEAD. I have had that moment many times writing. It is my thing. Call it a gift, whatever. But, for now three years, it's been stuck. I couldn't chance those things to come out on the page, unknowingly, I didn't want to see them. Couldn't bear to look at this blog with references to dada sprinkled everywhere. He is a different person to me now. My children's dad. And that is weird to get over. 

But. My God. I think I can write again.

Why? 

Acceptance. Maybe? So says therapy lady. Accept what is, not what you thought would be, what you thought WAS, just accept the way it is now. 

And so I do. 

And you know what? That makes the typing of the unfettered thoughts coming out way less scary. 

I was numb to it all. For a couple years there. I couldn't see it, just moving forward, only forward. Which is, of course a good direction to go (hahaha) but, it was at the expense of me stilling my mind, and listening to the wounded former wife inside. 

So, now, every now and then, I listen. And I know her hurts, and I know she is angry, and feels ripped off, but God almighty she is a rocking freaking queen. BUSINESS BUILT UP. IN THE MIDDLE OF A FRIGGING PANDEMIC. NEW BUSINESS LAUNCHED. AMAZING FRIENDS. HOUSE. PUPPY. Girlfriend, wounded former wife, you can glow again. 

Sometimes we gotta talk to ourselves like that you know, the third person, because our rational selves move along with pizza night and tennis lessons and back to school shopping and etc with nary a thought to it all. It is easier sometimes, when we start acclimating to former pain (and yes, its former, wowzah, I wrote that) in any case, sometimes it is easier to acknowledge that former pain in the third person. I know that hurt Sara. I know you feel belittled and torn up and betrayed. But. It's gonna be okay.

MORE THAN OKAY.

I can't tell you all. Too much detail of course isn't meant for public spaces, but, the things I am learning about myself, about recovery from trauma, I CAN TELL AND BY GOLLY I WILL.

So. 

That is that.

About myself. I am a pretty trusting extrovert who has lots of great ideas and is, at 44 years old, quite capable of putting them out into the world. 

Wounded self. Doubts and fears and has a tiny touch of self loathing.

Myself. Joined a boxing club. Eats dinner in restaurants alone. Launched a new amazing course for women going through a mid-life pivot (be it career or what have you) and is pretty free and trusting of her kids in mothering. So much more.

But wounded self. Watches hours of Netflix, still has trouble setting appropriate boundaries, says yes, too easily, can't sleep at night.

Myself though. She is winning the day. 

And she is back. June is here still. She now orders pizza on Wednesday nights and gives unfettered access to devices and buys clothes instead of making them. But she is also creatively pursuing the flourishing life she envisions. And she is pretty damn amazing.

Rock on mamas.

I missed you.