Why I Write

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 desicions. 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 🙂

I am a Dreamer & I Will Not Apologize

I am a dreamer, and I always have been.

I have always been drawn to those who keep an evolving vision to match their continually -expanding hope for success. Those who keep their dream safe and protected from negative thoughts that could potentially taint it. The ones who work hard to acquire the specialized knowledge & to develop the talents to see that dream manifested. They know not to even acknowledge the fleeting setbacks that keep coming full force. They learn to love failure, because it’s known that with every seed of adversity brings with it, an even greater seed for success. These people spread love and encouragement everywhere they go, and are capable of cultivating genuine happiness for other dreamers working toward their own vision. These are MY people.

What’s difficult for me is connecting with your average pessimist.
Only seeing the daily struggle, and therefore only FEELING the daily struggle. These people lack the creative capacity to even imagine their life as any different than it always has been. They often poke fun at the dreamers for thinking they can be successful, and may not even know what failure is like, because they’ve never taken the risk of appearing foolish for trying. They hold back praise for others’ accomplishments, because for some in-explainable reason it’s a let down to see someone else happy and successful.

While we can’t avoid these people I do think it’s important to learn how to co-exist while protecting that fire within ourselves. I’m a huge believer in the idea that if I take care of my mind, my attitude, and watch the way that I talk to myself- then everything always finds a way to work itself out.

Failing Motherhood

I wrote this about a year ago, and decided to share on here as well.

For any mom’s currently feeling even the slightest bit inadequate, I have some confessions for ya!

Today I caught my 7 month old daughter chewing on a tire pressure gauge, (that had somehow gotten into our living room toybox).

Similarly, a few days ago, my 4 year old son found a chicken tender in the back seat of my car- and shoved it in his mouth before I could wrestle it away.

Last week, he forced me to chase him around the porn section of family video.

Today we had spaghetti for breakfast, spaghetti for lunch, and spaghetti for dinner. (And I only washed the dishes AS I needed them.

And to top it off, despite my RELENTLESS efforts to teach my daughter to say ‘mama’, today she FINALLY said her first word…

Yes. You guessed it. ‘DADADADADADADAAAAAAAD.’

Most days I feel a day late and a dolla short in the parenting department.
The next time YOU find yourself relating, please remember this is what it’s all about. And you are not alone.

Motherhood Is…

Motherhood is…

Being yelled at because you flushed your four year old’s poop, before he could say goodbye to it.

It’s changing 2 shitty diapers within 5 minutes of each other because the baby wasn’t finished.

Receiving approximately 72 headbutts to the nose during each child’s life.

Pretending to be civilized in the park (and succeeding!)until your offspring decides to hop up onto any available platform, and start pissing a pretty picture into the concrete.

Motherhood is having an embarrassingly long list of stories involving bodily fluids.

It is relating to that mom at the grocery store pushing a cart and a stroller by herself while trying to tame 3 hyped up kids and simultaneously grab all the groceries she needs.

Motherhood is feeling the same level of excitement for a new $8 Walmart coffee pot, as you felt for the brand new subs you blew all your graduation money for when you were 18.

Motherhood is, owning not one stain free outfit.(But who am I kidding? I couldn’t pull that off even if I was kid-free.)

Motherhood is so many things. Stressful. A learning curve. Beautiful. Exhausting. But most of all, it’s pure entertainment.