You GO Glenn Coco!

meandbAs women, we all play so many roles. Juggling appointments, housework, school work, work work, finances, social events….all of it ONTOP of daily to do’s.

We all know that friendships change after we start having families of our own, we can’t always be there for each other like we use to be, or like we wish we could.

Sometimes I worry about my mom friends. Simply because I know, that we are all struggling in our own silent ways. Just trying to get from one day to the next, keeping everyone alive and thriving, and I guess I worry that some of us may be falling through the cracks.

With this being said, to ALL my sistas!!! To the mamas, and the non-mamas, to the ones I have managed to keep in touch with, and the ones whom I have only ever interacted with on social media, the friends who I use to talk to DAILY, but currently am lucky to meet up with once every couple years.

I am always rooting for you.

I love seeing your accomplishments! I love seeing your children growing into tiny yous. I love seeing you graduating from school and getting great jobs. I love seeing you practice your talents, and achieving goals.

I often find myself scrolling through my feeds and thinking, DAMN GIRL. YASSS HONEY. YOU GO GLEN COCO… I am blessed to have the friendships and support from all the people I have met throughout the years. And thankful that social media allows me to cheer you all on from afar.

While I would have loved to shoot you each individual texts telling each of you how amazing you are & how much I miss you, I am currently up to my elbows in dirty diapers and laundry- so I hope this broad message reaches you, and gives you some kind of virtual high five, because y’all deserve it. WHO RUN THE WORLD? GIRLS.

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Why I Write

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Anyone who knows me, knows that I write. Writing papers for my english classes was literally always a breeze for me. I have written for as long as I can remember. Songs about my adolescent heartbreak (just call me, Taylor Swift), poems about abuse, deep thoughts on how to make this world a brighter place, prayers to bring order to my chaotic life, and about a trillion other trivial things. Up until these last couple of months, I wrote purely for myself. Now, I write to you!…and you, and you.

Growing up, most of us get a ‘diary’ at some point or another. My grandma bought me one for every occasion, holiday, and sometimes, for no reason at all. With so many pretty designs on the covers, who can resist buying 3 more before you even fill one half-way up! I was the coolest girl on my country block when I received my journal with the voice recognition passcode lock when I was 10. I had it for all of two days before I realized that it wasn’t all that high tech. My youngest sister had been able to hack into it by overhearing my password, and apparently her voice sounded so much like mine, (or it was just so cheaply made) that she was able to read my diary.

I have always been drawn to the office supply section of all department stores. Pens, paper, binders, folders, organizers, planners, trapper-keepers, and journals galore! I could hang out in that section for literally hours. Something about untouched, brand new, beautiful stationary just gets me goin’.

I began to regularly write in my journals at the age of 12. I started each entry with ‘dear diary,’ and then went on to apologize to it that it had been 3 whole days since I last wrote to it (I was just a busy gal). My entries evolved from childish, green, undeveloped thoughts, to deep philosophical ones. The older I got, the more life I experienced, the more pain I went through, the deeper my writing became.

By the time I was 17, I had more than 10 full journals filled out. For reasons I won’t go into detail about, that year I felt compelled to burn every single one in a bonfire we were having in our backyard. One by one I tossed them into the fire, and as the corners started to peel back and melt, with my poking stick I quickly pulled page by page into the flames, catching glances of the paragraphs I had written as I went. It was like catching fleeting glimpses into very detailed moments of the past 5 years of my life, and then poof, I only had my memories to hold onto.

After that, it became my ritual to burn my journals after I filled them out. It became my sort of therapy. It wasn’t until I became pregnant that I began to hold onto my memories again. Knowing I had a life growing inside of me, I felt if there was ever a time to start really holding onto every memory, it was then.

When I am able to get my thoughts out of my brain and onto something tangible, I feel connected to myself. I am able to get out of my own way, and focus. I feel less lonely. I feel I have more direction in my decisions. My journals have heard many secrets. Some secrets that not even the closest people to me have heard. Writing gets my creative juices flowing. It allows me to organize my thoughts, and compartmentalize my feelings. My journal is my safe place. My journal was my only voice for a long time.

What I want everyone to know is, we all have a voice. We all deserve to feel connected to ourselves. We are all important. And it is important to find out how we will use our voices. I, for one, still have high hopes to make the world a brighter place. To reach out to those who feel alone in whatever they are going through. To offer them a piece of hope, and a sense of direction. To empower, encourage, motivate, and inspire others to find their voice, and their purpose. To know that they are not alone in whatever they are going through. To start a movement.

It Feels Good to be ‘Good’

If you’d like to walk in my shoes a little bit…

Just imagine to yourself, deciding on a hunch, to turn in the opposite direction of what you’ve been working toward for months. Up and deciding that what’s best for your family is to literally pack up the important shit and GO. To a new state. Immediately. Having a less-than vague plan. One backpack per individual family member. WITH TWO KIDS UNDER 5. Possessing nothing much but complete and utter blind faith in the idea of things working out.

Imagine spending the next 6 months getting your life back together. No choice but to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps. Feeling best friends with devastation, frustration, & stress. Literal ‘late-night-early-morning-squeeze-in-every-errend-every-day-around-the-clock’ type of grind. No end in sight, setback after setback. Trying to keep a happy face for the kids. Brand new driver’s licenses, banks, careers, vehicles, home, doctors, schools, wardrobes…..everything needing to be re-established.

Then imagine COMING OUT ON TOP. Turning out happy, and relatively well-adjusted. Navigating random ass obstacles with ease and positivity. Making friends, receiving promotions, getting basic household items and furniture back.

I am thankful for the life we are making for ourselves here. I’m thankful for my husband for bringing me back to sanity a time or two. And I’m thankful for every single person who has helped my family get to where we are today. So. Cali is okay I guess 🙂